


Potions | A Bitter Potion To Brew

by Drarrymadhatter



Series: Seven Shades of Magic [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Community: Seven Shades of Drarry, Drarry, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, First Time Sex, Forced Bonding, Forced Proximity, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Life Debt, M/M, Magical Core Sickness, Mandatory Muggle Studies, Mystery Sickness, Portrait Teacher, Potions, Sick Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, Soul/Bond Mates, Wandless Magic, portrait snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrymadhatter/pseuds/Drarrymadhatter
Summary: Draco isn’t feeling very well. To be honest, he’s never been worse. With the start of his eighth year at Hogwarts just weeks away, the Healers finally diagnose him with a magical core sickness, its only cure being magical infusions from the victim’s soulmate via bonding. Who’s Draco’s soulmate? Why, Harry Potter, of course!Draco is horrified at the news and refuses to accept it, opting instead to keep his illness secret and find a potion substitute to cure himself. He returns to Hogwarts, working with Portrait Snape to come up with a cure, but can he find one before his sickness takes his fate out of his hands?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Seven Shades of Magic [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900732
Comments: 39
Kudos: 506
Collections: Seven Shades of Drarry





	1. Going Under

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the [Seven Shades of Magic anthology](/series/1900732), the third in a series of collaborative projects within the [Seven Shades of Drarry](/collections/Seven_Shades_of_Drarry) collective.
> 
> Thanks so much to my amazing fellow collaborators who helped shape and beta this story. It simply would not exist without them.
> 
> (Unfortunately, these characters belong to J. K. Rowling, no matter her bigotry.)
> 
> There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](https://spoti.fi/2Qx1l1Y); seven songs for each of the seven fics included in the collection.

* * *

_August 1998_

* * *

Draco woke up to find himself lying on a hospital bed in a sterile-looking room. The beeping of the monitoring charm was steady and rhythmic, almost lulling him back into unconsciousness. The grit in his eyes scraped against his lids each time he blinked as he tried to acclimate himself to the bright light above his bed. He had initially thought it was the famed light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, but he quickly disabused himself of that notion. Death Eaters, especially subpar ones such as himself, didn’t get a happy ending, even in death. Maybe especially in death.

“Draco?”

He tried to force his eyes to stay open. That was his mother’s voice, but smaller, unsure, emotional. Her voice was never those things, even if she felt like it, and it was all kinds of wrong. 

“He’s awake! Quickly, get the Healer!” The urgent whisper wasn’t a voice he recognised, but that didn’t mean much. There weren’t many people from before around any more, most of them either dead or having fled the country. 

“Draco, the Healer is coming. Try to stay awake, my darling.” Salazar, his mother’s voice was laced with fear and worry and something else unidentifiable. It made him want to sink down into the dark and hide from whatever had her so upset. It made him want to lunge out of the fog and wrap his arms around her and vow to protect her no matter what. As it was, he could do nothing except lie there, blinking his eyes painfully, the light pounding at his head, his mother’s face fading in and out of focus with each pass of his lids over dry eyes. 

“Ah, the patient has finally woken. Let’s just see what we have here…” The voice was confident, jovial, its deep timbre soothing rather than grating him. The face that appeared in his blurred vision was soft and friendly. _He must not know who I am, then,_ thought Draco bitterly. The only person with kind words for him these days was his mother. “Ah, nice to meet you, Mr Malfoy.” Pain shot across Draco’s head as he tried to wrinkle his forehead at the realisation the man _did_ know who he was after all, and yet was still being kind to him. “I’m Healer Greyson. Try not to worry; I’m just going to perform some diagnostic spells upon you, and we’ll go from there. There’s a good lad.” 

As he lay on the bed, the tingles of magic ghosting over his skin as the Healer performed his spells, he couldn’t help but marvel at the kindness the man was showing him, at the gentle touch of his magic. A tear escaped, and another, and another, burning trails of self-pity down his cheeks and into the soft fabric of the pillow underneath his head. He didn’t deserve anything good. 

* * *

“Do you understand what I’ve explained, Draco?” 

Draco sat propped up in his hospital bed, his mother fussing with the blankets next to him. Healer Greyson had been unerringly professional and attentive in caring for Draco, and Draco found himself thinking he would miss that when he was finally discharged.

“Yes, I understand.” How could he not? The man had taken ridiculously patient measures to explain his illness. Even a bumbling Weasley could grasp his meaning by now. Longbottom, however, may have needed another round of illustrated flashcards. 

“Are you sure? You seem— Forgive me, but you seem especially calm for someone who has just found out they have a grievous and potentially life-threatening sickness.” Draco could see the concern was genuine from the knitting of his eyebrows. _Merlin, he must really take his job seriously,_ Draco mused.

“I assure you, I understand. I just don’t see the point in worrying about something that is outside my control.”

“Draco!”

“Mother, the chance of survival—”

“But there _is_ a chance, Draco! And you _will_ take it!” Her voice practically vibrated with fury and determination. When she put her mind to it, his mother was surely a force to be reckoned with. 

“All right, Mother,” soothed Draco as he grasped her hand tightly, unnerved by the grey pallor of his mother’s face and the shadows that had now taken residence under her watery eyes. “Let’s explore the options.”

“Ok, so the options,” began Healer Greyson, “are as follows. One — we make you as comfortable as possible with Pain-Relieving Potions for the remainder of your active life. We would also make plans for when you need to begin palliative care, which would be the last month or so of your illness.” The grip his mother had on his hand was verging on painful, and he used the pain to keep himself grounded. This was nothing he hadn’t expected and he wouldn’t allow himself to get emotional and maudlin. “Two — we perform an experimental spell. It’s still in its testing stages, but it’s developed for this kind of core sickness.”

Healer Greyson paused until Draco nodded that he should continue, obviously picking up on the undercurrent of emotion passing between mother and son. 

“As you may be aware, every magically-abled person has a twin, a magical soulmate, if you will. The spell essentially enters the patient’s magical core and seeks out their core twin. The results are conveyed back to the Healer, who can then take the appropriate action thereafter. 

“Now, I must impress upon you both that there are restrictions and negative aspects of this spell. It’s still awaiting full approval, so not all side effects may yet be known. When your core twin is revealed, they may not be in a position to help you. For example, they may be deceased, sick themselves, or unwilling to participate in the healing process. Lastly, there is a chance that this spell may not work. In the trials, there was a ninety-five percent rate of a successful cast, with five percent of the patients yielding no results at all.

“What benefit would come from finding my core twin? I don’t see how that would help my situation at all.” The whole plan seemed to lack any common sense and Draco wasn’t about to embark on a harebrained scheme, even under extenuating circumstances!

“If your core twin was found and agreed to enter in a highly specialised bond, their core would bond with yours, essentially stabilising it and thereby reversing the sickness.”

“Then it would only need to be a temporary bond?” The idea of being forced into bonding with anyone, even his supposed soulmate, made Draco want to throw up.

“Unfortunately, any attempt to dissolve the bond would result in your core reverting back to its previous state. The deterioration would be rather swift, taking you to the stage of progression your sickness had reached prior to the bonding ceremony. As much as this is a possible course of action, it is one which you would be binding yourself to for life.” Healer Greyson looked pityingly at Draco for a moment before proceeding with his spiel.

“As I mentioned, there are a couple of known negative effects which you must understand before agreeing to anything. The first and most common side effect, affecting up to a third of the test subjects, is a lingering pressure on the chest area. So far, this discomfort has been mostly harmless, affecting only those who expose themselves to strenuous exercise, such as athletes. The other side effect, which affected only two percent of the test subjects, is regrettably more serious. In those cases, there seems to be an incompatibility between the core and the spell, an allergic reaction if you will. The reaction was sudden and aggressive, resulting in those test subjects losing the functionality of their magic. Essentially, they became squibs. It’s important you understand that this reaction can be instantaneous — in fact, it often is — however, there are cases where it has taken a while to manifest. Therefore, after the spell is performed, should your bond-mate agree to assist, we would want to keep a close eye on your magical core.”

“I need you to understand these stipulations, Mr Malfoy, and verbally express your wish to proceed before we can move forwards.”

“We agree, don’t we Draco?” His mother’s voice brooked no argument, and Draco found himself nodding his acquiescence. 

“The next step is paperwork, I’m afraid. Since the spell is still awaiting final approval, you’ll both need to sign waivers. I also need to fill out some forms detailing your medical situation. There are concerns that this spell could be misused for personal use rather than for medical purposes, as I’m sure you can appreciate. So, if you’re happy to go ahead, I’ll just get the forms.”

“Mother, please don’t get your hopes up.”

“No, Draco, don’t you dare write this off before you even give it a chance to work. I refuse to allow you to give up! I want you to promise me that you will fight this by any means necessary!”

He looked at his mother and marvelled, not for the first time, just how much of a manipulative shrew she could be. Even in his ire, he couldn’t help but be impressed by her tenacity. 

“I promise, Mother, but only to do what I can. I can’t promise more than that.”

He looked down at their joined hands, his mother’s knuckles almost white with strain, and he found himself looking at her lovely face as silent tears rolled down her pale cheeks. Merlin, they were all damned, and likely not to a place as nice as hell.

* * *

Draco forced himself to take deep calming breaths as his mother continued to cry silently to his left, her hand again tightly gripping his own. Healer Greyson was surreptitiously gathering his papers together, having been ordered out of the room by Draco mere seconds before. 

“Draco—”

“No, Mother! Just don’t, okay! Healer Greyson — patient confidentiality. I don’t want any word of this leaking anywhere.” The sombre Healer nodded his understanding and quickly left the room, leaving Draco and his mother alone for the first time in hours.

“Draco, please, can’t you—”

“No, I can’t!” The unfairness of the whole thing was threatening to overwhelm him. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip until the coppery taste of blood began to tingle along his tongue. “Potter! Of all the impossible, self-righteous, puffed-up twits in the world, I get fucking Potter!” He could feel his eyes begin to smart again, and he wished, not for the first time, that he had managed to die in the Room of Requirement after all. If only Potter hadn’t flown back to save him. “After everything that’s happened, that’s who I get for my core twin!”

“We should contact him. You never know, darling. He’s defied the odds before, maybe he’ll surprise us.” His mother’s voice was careful, measured, as if she knew just how close to the edge he actually was. 

“If you think for a second that Potter will do anything to help me, then you’re sorely mistaken. He wouldn’t blink if I exploded in front of him.”

“I could make him. He owes me a life debt—” Her words sent a surge of panic through his body, and he sat forward on the bed, angrily leaning into her tired face.

“Not another word, Mother! I don’t want him involved. I swear, if you tell him, I’ll never forgive you.”

He thought she would shout at him or order him as only a mother could. He never considered she would simply shrink in front of him. His mother, who had always stood so tall no matter what, seemed to crumble into herself, her eyes closing in what could only be defeat. 

“I already lost your father, Draco; I can’t lose you too.”

“Mother,” breathed Draco, guilt and remorse eating away at him almost as painfully as the core aching inside his chest. He pulled her to sit on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around her, although whether to comfort himself or his mother, he wasn’t sure. “I promised I would do what I could to keep fighting, didn’t I? I meant it. I can’t involve Potter — I just can’t — but I can try and find another way.”

“What other way could there be? What other hope is there?” The words were muffled against his neck, but he heard them as clearly as if his mother had shouted them.

“School starts back up next week, unless I end up a squib, of course. I’ll ask Severus if he can help.” His mother pulled back slightly, her face crinkled in confusion. “McGonagall’s letting him take on the Potions Master role again. His portrait must have been driving her crazy.” Draco couldn’t help but share the small smile that crept across his mother’s face at the thought of Severus causing mayhem from his portrait. “Maybe there’s a potion substitute that can be manufactured. If anyone can do it, it would be Severus.”

Draco stayed with his arms wrapped around his mother for several long moments, unwilling to let her go just yet. It was surely hopeless, but he would talk to Severus before hanging up his wand and picking out a casket. 


	2. Ordinary World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco returns to Hogwarts and his illness progresses.

* * *

_September 1998_

* * *

It was strange, being back at Hogwarts. Everyone who had survived the war, no matter what side they had been on, had been required to return to Hogwarts to get their N.E.W.T.s, to heal and try to adapt. At least, that’s what their letters had said. Eighth year was an anomaly in many ways — they were now houseless, orphaned from their prior houses, and somewhat adrift together. McGonagall claimed that the school wasn’t designed to house an eighth year, and therefore, as adults, they couldn’t be categorised in the same way as the lower years.

Adults indeed. They were eighteen! Draco was no more an adult than McGonagall was a spring chicken. What the eighth year basically consisted of was a jumble of students, all suffering from different degrees of PTSD, trying their best to sink or swim together. Some were coping better than others, of course. Granger seemed to be in her element, her nose in a book and back at the top of the class. Blaise had resumed his whorish ways, seemingly determined to double the notches on his bedpost by the end of the year. Greg appeared fine, but he wasn’t, that much was obvious. He barely slept, barely spoke, barely ate. He’d taken to following Draco around more than usual and Draco, for once, didn’t mind. They seemed to embrace each other’s company, and neither one felt inclined to push the other. 

The Eighth Years’ breakfast table was directly next to the High Table, and therefore within surveillance distance. If someone wasn’t eating enough, it was noticed. If someone was being aggressive, it was dealt with. Draco felt on show all of the time and did his best to do everything just right in a bid to keep himself invisible. 

He was just finishing his breakfast of coffee and toast, Greg sitting sullenly spearing sausages to his left, when he felt the usual dull ache in his chest shift to something sharper. He’d been warned that it would progress quickly, with him likely being bedridden by Christmas. So far, he’d been able to manage the pain without any potions, the throb akin to bad heartburn. However, this new, sharp jabbing inside his chest was something else. It needled and stabbed in short bursts as he breathed, a thin sheen of sweat already forming on his upper lip. He’d taken to carrying around a dose of Pain-Relief potion just in case a moment like this occurred, and he grudgingly found himself pulling the little bottle out from inside his robes and quickly drank the contents.

“Feeling unwell, Mr Malfoy?” called McGonagall sharply. Of course, she would have noticed. She noticed everything! Feeling his body relax as the pain began to ebb, he hoisted an innocent smile onto his face. 

“Not at all, Headmistress. Just some Pepper-Up. I slept with the window open last night and seem to have a slight sniffle, is all.”

“Very well, Mr Malfoy, but if it persists please visit Madam Pomfrey for something stronger.”

Draco found himself nodding in assurance, indignation rising within him. Nosy old bat; what business was it of hers to question what potions he did or did not take? He quickly swallowed the rest of his coffee and left the table, Greg grabbing a last sausage from the plate as he followed. It was almost time for Potions class anyway.

* * *

The bell signalling the end of the lesson resounded throughout the room, but still, no one moved. Everyone was well aware that in Potions, the bell didn’t dismiss you, Severus did. Everyone sat, eyes transfixed upon the large portrait of Severus Snape behind the teacher’s desk at the front of the class. 

“Ensure your potions are appropriately labelled and left upon my desk for my assistant, Mr Davis, to grade. Once you have done so, you may go. Obviously, next lesson you will be required to submit the subject and outline of focus for your individual projects. Do not forget, or you’ll suffer my displeasure.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile. Severus really never changed, dead or not. He hung back, waiting until the classroom was empty, before approaching the shrewd portrait. 

“Draco, is there something with which I can assist you?”

“I was wanting to discuss my project with you. I know what I want to do, and I’ve been researching it in the library as much as I can, but I’m not sure how to actually do it…”

“Stop dithering, Draco. Sit down and explain properly what you are on about, and quick. I have another class in ten minutes, as do you.”

Draco nodded and took one of the seats at the front of the classroom. He raised his eyes and saw that Severus was waiting rather impatiently, his oil-painted foot tapping. 

“I have an illness that’s affecting my magical core. The only known cure, a bonding with my core-mate, is unacceptable. I want to make a potion substitute. Maybe see if we could use Phoenix tears, or Murtlap, perhaps.”

His godfather was silent for several moments before responding. His brow was furrowed, something that had tended to happen in life when he’d been greatly worried. 

“Is your mother aware of this? Or the Headmistress?”

“Mother knows, but no one else. I don’t want anyone else to know.”

“Why not? What aren’t you telling me, Draco?”

“My core-mate, my _soul_ mate…” His mouth turned downwards with distaste at the concept. “…is Potter.”

“Ah.” Draco watched Severus process the information, the slight widening of his obsidian eyes the only hint that of the surprise he surely felt. “Yes. I can see how that would make you want to seek an alternative. You do realise that there is as much chance of failure as there is success? Perhaps moreso?”

“Please, Severus. I wouldn’t ask if I had another viable alternative.”

“Very well.” agreed Severus finally with a sharp nod. “We will begin work on your project this evening after dinner. You will, of course, need to do all of the work yourself in order to be awarded credit, but I will assist you in every way I know how. I will expect you in my chambers no later than seven.”

“Thanks, Uncle Sev.”

Draco could see the corner of the portrait’s mouth quirk at the old endearment Draco had called him in life. He swung his bag over his shoulder and strode out of the room. He had a few minutes to get to Transfiguration, and McGonagall wasn’t one to accept tardiness at the best of times. 

* * *

Draco was sure that whoever decided Muggle Studies should be mandatory was secretly a sadist. By all means, encourage inter-house unity until every student was sick to death of it, but Muggle Studies was completely useless and the teacher, a very young and idealistic Professor Bumble, was stark raving mad. So far, they’d learned about Muggle cooking (resulting in Draco nearly slicing off one of his fingers with something called a blender), laundry (which resulted in many students being branded with multiple iron burns), and now they were learning about transportation. Last week it had been trains and buses — who, in their right minds, would travel on a Muggle train? Without magic to guide and protect it, it was basically a death trap on rails! This week, however, they were learning about cars, and if he thought Muggle trains were unsafe, it was nothing to how ridiculously reckless driving a car was. He really didn’t think there was anything that could make this class any more unbearable. 

“Everyone, attention please. We’ve managed to cover the theory behind driving and what the different parts of the car are. Today, I will sort you all into pairs, and you will be taking a Muggle driving lesson!”

Draco had no idea what, in the name of Salazar, the mental case was thinking, but there was absolutely no way he was getting behind the wheel of a Muggle vehicle. It was, quite literally, the last thing he would ever agree to do. From the looks on many of his classmates' faces, they felt similarly. Only Granger was predictably excited, squealing, “Oh, this will be fascinating!” while the Weasel sat next to her looking like he wanted to throw up. Strangely, Potter looked bored with the whole thing. Although, Draco had to concede that the prospect of driving a Muggle car would be less frightening than facing the Dark Lord in a duel.

“Now, for your pairs. In the spirit of inter-house unity, I have taken the liberty of randomising the pairings.” Miss Bumble ran through her list, the students moving to join their partners as she read. Draco couldn’t help but snort at the expression on Granger’s face as she was paired with Longbottom. He only hoped she had her affairs in order. He felt sorry for Greg who was paired with the Weasel, although, with any luck, Greg would end up thumping the ginger twat. Draco was so focused on passing judgement on the other pairings, he completely missed his own name being read out, only jumping to attention when Potter sat down next to him with an angry thump.

“What the hell do you want, Potter? Bugger off, will you?”

“I’d love to, Malfoy, believe me. But for some twisted reason, we’re partners.”

“We’re…what?”

“Partners, Malfoy? You know, working together, study-buddies, mutual prisoners of impending doom.”

“Oh for— That’s really all I need. To die in a Muggle car with Harry bloody Potter.”

“Right back at you, Malfoy.”

Draco scowled and plunged his hand inside his cloak for another Pain-Relief potion, swallowing the entire thing in one go. His chest was beginning to hurt again, and the last thing he needed was his core distracting him as he tried to operate Muggle death machines.

“Oi, what was that?” demanded Potter, having seen Draco take the potion. “I’m not getting in a car with you if you’re out of your face!”

“Shut it, Potter. It’s just a mild pain potion for the headache you’re giving me! Give it a rest already.”

“Whatever, Malfoy. If I think you’re stoned, I’m reporting you.”

“Yeah, I know, the great Potter can’t possibly stand by and let rule-breaking reign supreme. Sing a new tune, will you?”

However, before Harry could respond, Miss Bumble began to address the class once again.

“Now, now, everyone! Attention, if you please!” Miss Bumble was smiling around at the class, seemingly unaffected by the number of unamused faces glaring back at her. “We will head out to the Quidditch pitch, where the practical side of this lesson has been set up for us.

“There will be several cars, each one with a Muggle-born witch or wizard who will be your driving instructor. You are all required to adjust your mirrors and observe safety, start the car, drive forwards for one hundred yards, turn, drive back to where you started, and stop. Anyone not observing safety measures, being insulting, or generally interrupting class, will be sent directly to Headmistress McGonagall for punishment.”

With those final words of warning ringing in everyone’s ears, they all shuffled out of the classroom and made their way down to the Quidditch pitch, some more enthusiastically than others. Draco couldn’t help but feel as if he were walking to his execution. 

* * *

“Malfoy! For fuck’s sake!”

“Shut it, Potter!”

“You’re going to fucking hit it!”

“You’re putting me off!”

“How the hell am I putting you off? You haven’t a fucking clue!”

“Now, boys. Less swearing and shouting, please! Mr Malfoy, please mind your mirrors and indicators,” The squat, balding instructor with bad breath said, his voice as bland as his face.

“Indicate this,” mumbled Draco, as he hit the little stick thing at the side of the wheel to make the light blink and then wrenched the wheel to the right to turn.

“Fuck! Malfoy!”

“I. Said. Shut. Up!” Draco felt as if his throat was beginning to bleed from the amount of shouting going on between him and Potter. Merlin, this was ridiculous. He managed to turn the car, albeit a bit aggressively, and then pulled the wheel to the left to try and straighten the car out, before thumping his foot flat on the piano-pedal thing at his foot, his body shooting back against the seat as the car lurched forwards at breakneck speed.

“Mr Malfoy, you’re going too fast! Slow down, please! Use the left pedal!”

“Malfoy, for the love of— Stop the fucking car!”

“Fine!” screamed Draco, and he slammed his foot as hard as he could on the left pedal. The car lurched and shuddered to a stop as the brakes screamed in protest. The air was filled with the smell of burning rubber. “Happy? We’ve fucking stopped! Oh!” Draco found himself sitting in utter surprise at the realisation he had managed to complete the circuit, the car currently stopped directly where they had started. “See!” he demanded triumphantly, “I did it! Better and faster than you!”

“At least I didn’t cause the instructor to almost pass out!”

Draco looked at the instructor and had to admit that the man looked green about the gills, but who cared? He had done it, and decidedly better than Potter had. That was a win in his book.

He double-checked the car was in park and unclipped his safety belt thing, pleased to note that when he exited the car, his legs were much more stable than the other two’s. To be fair, Potter didn’t look that bad, just pissed off. The instructor, however, looked like he needed a stiff drink or three.

“Here you are, Mr Potter, your pass result for your class. Mr Malfoy, here is your pass result — on the condition that if you ever need to learn to drive properly, you hire one of my colleagues rather than myself. I haven’t reported either of you for the sheer abject terror of this lesson, but only because I will either be accused of prejudice towards a Death Eater’s child or trying to sabotage the great Harry Potter. Now, if you don’t mind, I find myself in need of a medicinal whisky. I bid you both a good day.”

Draco rolled his eyes and took his result, ignoring the smug snort from Potter at the instructor’s pointed comment. Whatever. He passed, and that was the main thing. 

Once everyone had finished their driving, Miss Bumble herded everyone back into the classroom to collect their results and hand out their homework — some ridiculous amount of parchment on the experience of driving, no doubt! As long as it didn’t involve actually driving any more Muggle vehicles, Draco didn’t care what it was.

Before he knew it, the bell was sounding the end of the torture and the beginning of dinner. Draco couldn’t wait to leave the disaster of the lesson behind. Unfortunately, the class as a whole seemed to feel the same way, and the doorway was one seething mass of students trying to force their way through. At least Greg had waited on him, and Draco didn’t complain as the boy proceeded to roughly shove people out of their way. 

“Poor you. Wasn’t it awful being paired with _Malfoy_?”

Draco whipped his head around at the mention of his name and was presented with the nauseating sight of the girl Weasley hanging all over Potter. The way she said his name, as if he was less than shite on her shoe, made his blood thunder in his ears. 

“Don’t worry, Weasley. Potter was hardly my first choice of partner either.” 

The ginger bint turned towards him, her eyes narrowed dangerously. Draco was glad for the chance to vent and found himself sneering at her in response.

“Had your eye on one of your fellow Death Eaters, did you?” Her words made something inside him snap, and before he knew it, he was stepping into her space, his eyes boring into hers as he towered over her.

“Say that again; I dare you.” 

However, before either of them could say anything else, Potter’s body was suddenly between them.

“Enough! Malfoy, back the fuck off. Now!” Draco looked at Potter and saw the anger flashing deep within his brilliant green eyes, and he found himself taking a step back. It was one thing to taunt a Weasley, but he would be expelled if he pissed off the Saviour too much. He watched Potter turn to his girlfriend, noticing with irritation how much his face softened when he looked at her. 

“He’s not worth it, Ginny. Come on,” Potter took her hand and began to walk away, “I’m starving.”

As Draco watched Potter lead her away, the girl Weasley looked back at him with a sly grin, carefully mouthing the words “Death Eater scum” at him. As they disappeared around the corner, Draco could feel his whole body vibrate with fury. He could feel his hand twitch towards his wand as his brain scrambled through all the curses he could cast after her. 

“Leave it, Draco,” mumbled Greg in a deep rumbling voice. “She’s just a stupid bitch, yeah? I’m hungry.”

Draco found himself absently following alongside Greg on the way to the Great Hall. If he had ever thought about reconsidering his decision about Potter being his core mate, this only made him all the more certain that he had made the right choice.

* * *

The air in the small room was close and stale, making Draco wish he’d cast a Bubble-Head Charm before entering. It really shouldn’t have surprised him, given that Severus didn’t actually need fresh air anymore. He looked around at the familiar space as he waited for Severus to show up in his portrait, taking note of the many books and bottles lining the shelves. He couldn’t help but step closer, observing the many rare ingredients. Unicorn tears! Draco couldn’t believe it! They were ridiculously difficult to come by. Where had Severus got them from? As he reached out to lift the bottle for a closer look, a sudden low cough broke the silence, causing Draco to jump about a foot into the air in fright.

“I do hope I’m not interrupting your snooping.”

“Sorry,” murmured Draco, his eyes fixed on the carpet, “I was just looking…”

“I’m not sure how things were done in your household, Draco, but I was taught we look with our eyes, not our hands.” Draco chanced a look at his godfather and was relieved to find he was smiling in amusement. “What were you looking at, anyway? Ah, unicorn tears. Yes, very rare, but not strong enough in terms of healing properties to meet our requirements.

“I think we’re going to need to list the most potent healing ingredients and their reactions when combined with stabilising agents. I think that would be the best way to handle this potion. Your core is unstable, is it not, and in need of healing? There is a glossary of rare ingredients on the middle shelf there, with the red spine. I suggest you begin reading. I will be here if you need to ask any questions.”

Draco dutifully lifted the specified book from the shelf and began to flip through it for the section on healing. He pulled parchment, a quill, and some ink from his bag and began to take notes, pausing every now and then to ask Severus a question. Before long, Draco had a sheaf of notes on bases, stabilizers, healing properties, optimal temperatures, cauldron types — anything which Severus thought may be of use was written down.

Luckily, many of the potion components listed Severus already had in his store, and anything else could be collected or ordered easily enough. Severus had even permitted him to borrow several of his precious books — short of forcing him to take an Unbreakable Vow that he would ensure the books came to no harm (would an Unbreakable Vow work on a portrait?) — so he could continue his research from his room.

Draco was feeling especially optimistic. He had help, notes, and a good idea of where to start. He was certain that he was not only going to get full marks for his project, but that he would live to see his graduation.


	3. Praying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Draco ends up in the hospital wing and Harry finds out he's Draco's core-mate.

* * *

_November 1998_

* * *

Draco tried to keep his hands steady as he tipped three level scoops of powdered Moonstone into the cauldron. The sudden and sporadic tremors in his hands were a relatively new development and caused no small amount of trouble when he was trying to work on his cure. In all honesty, he put a lot of effort into not dwelling on his ailment, finding it best to bury himself in homework and his Potions project.

The spreading of the core sickness was advancing at a much faster pace than Draco’s progress in finding a cure. It had been two months, and so far each combination he had tried had resulted in failure. Severus was beginning to worry, which Draco could tell from the ever-increasing silences from the portrait. 

The current concoction, Murtlap tentacles and bezoar with Moonstone, turned out to be far too inconstant. At least, that’s what Severus had pronounced as he began to ease his way back into the portrait frame. Draco, glad that he had taken the precaution of goggles, gloves, and shield charms, stared at the failed potion with growing frustration. He had no idea what else to try.

“I don’t get it, Severus. The Moonstone should have stabilised it!” He lifted his arm to wipe the sweat from his soaked brow, yet another side effect from his illness. He’d never been so sweaty and sticky in his life, not even that summer when he was five and his parents decided they wanted to go on a Magical Safari.

“It’s the lunar quality of the Moonstone, Draco. Part of its nature is to change with the passage of time, growing and shrinking. You will need to find an alternative.”

“The others were too rigid, though.” Draco thought back to when they had tried ground marble. The vibrations from the resultant explosion had caused several of Severus’ shelves to shatter. He peeled off his gloves and goggles and cast quick, but adequate, Cleaning Charms to rectify the mess he’d made. Once the room was put to rights, he began to scoop his notes and books into his bag, his fingers struggling to fix the lid back onto his ink pot, barely managing to stifle a yawn. “I’ll do some more reading after finishing my homework. There needs to be something…maybe sandstone?”

“Good night, Draco. Until tomorrow.” 

He tiredly dragged himself out of Severus’ rooms and into the corridor, unaware that the Potions Master was watching him leave, his eyes heavy with sadness.

* * *

Over the next week, Draco tried two other combinations in Severus’ rooms, both of which resulted in disaster, and he was getting desperate. He spent his days trying to ignore the stabbing spikes in his chest, which the Pain-Relief Potions barely touched upon. He knew he could take a stronger dose, but it would make him drowsy and inconsistent at times — something he couldn’t afford if he was going to find a cure in time. The tremors in his hands had grown to the point that his handwriting was becoming illegible. At mealtimes, he opted to eat solid finger foods, no longer trusting his dexterity with cutlery. He was paler too; his skin was beginning to take on a muted grey tinge, made worse by the thin layer of sweat upon his brow and upper lip.

That morning while getting dressed, he’d noticed his magic was beginning to lose its stability too. He’d been trying to cast an Anti-Crease Charm on his robes and had ended up having to ask Blaise to do it instead, claiming he was too tired to do it himself. Not that him being tired was a lie — his sleep pattern had dwindled to practically nothing. He was lucky if he managed three undisturbed hours at night, often waking up shaking violently and drenched in sweat.

As he sat at the breakfast table, he couldn’t stop his stomach rolling around inside him, practically squirming at the thought of food being placed in it. Salazar, he needed to eat. He hadn’t managed anything at dinner last night, and if he was going to make any progress with Severus later on, he would need as much energy as he could get. He’d already taken Pepper-Up that morning and wouldn't be able to take another dose until bedtime.

He went to take a sip of coffee, carefully trying to keep his hand steady as he lifted the cup. He only got it halfway to his lips before he lost control of his hand, the dark liquid sloshing over the rim as he hastily lowered it back to the table. He hissed in frustration and kept his eyes firmly upon the table in front of him. He had no desire to see people staring at him, some in concern, others in glee. 

Deciding that he wouldn’t be able to stomach anything after all, he got to his feet and lifted his bag onto his shoulder, pausing for Greg to catch up. Greg always waited for him, and a Malfoy never forgot loyalty. Merlin, he wished Greg would hurry up though; the walls were beginning to close in, and he was desperate for fresh air. 

He’d managed to make it across the hall, a few yards away from the doors, before the room suddenly tilted on its axis, bringing Draco painfully to his knees. There was no air in the room, and he found himself clawing at his tie and collar, frantically trying to ease his breathing. Heat was pressing down upon him from every angle, causing his hair to cling damply to his cheeks and forehead. He needed air, and he found himself ripping his shirt open, buttons scattering every which way, as he tried to claw at his lungs and somehow force them to work. The pain from his core was shuddering, scalding, like thousands of tiny Cruciatus Curses surging through his blood and gathering into one agonising mass where his heart should have been. 

He could feel hands upon his skin, could hear people talking, but nothing reached him. The words were too far away, too quiet. His ears were too filled with the churning of blood inside his veins. He couldn’t focus on the hands that grabbed at him. His limbs had an agenda of their own as they shook and flipped and tensed. He could see the charmed ceiling of the Great Hall — the clouds morphing into pretty white shapes as they were blown across the ceiling by an imaginary breeze — and realised he’d fallen onto his back. It wasn’t as nice as the stars that littered it during dinner, but still nice to look at. As his limbs twitched and flopped feebly on the burning cold stone, he wondered if the clouds with blurred faces bobbing on the edges would be the last thing he would ever see. 

* * *

Draco woke to hushed whispers. His eyes felt as if they were full of sand or grit, but his arms were too heavy to lift to rub them. He wasn’t shaking and the pain was less, which made no sense. He forced his eyes open, only to scrunch them closed again as the light within the room, although muted, caused pain to shoot through his head. 

“Ah, welcome back, Mr Malfoy. I must say, you gave us all quite the scare.”

Draco opened his eyes to find Madam Pomfrey, Headmistress McGonagall, and his mother around his bed, each wearing varying degrees of worry upon their faces. 

“Your mother, as your next of kin, has informed us of your condition.” Draco couldn’t help but dart an accusatory glare at his mother, who glared defiantly back at him, before returning his attention upon McGonagall. “Madam Pomfrey has administered a strong Pain-Relief potion mixed with a mild sedative, which should account for any sluggishness you may be feeling at the moment, so please do not be alarmed.”

“Draco, I told them everything—” Draco sucked in a harsh breath at the implication of his mother’s words, and he silenced her with the weight of his stare.

“What do you mean by ‘everything’? Mother, what have you done?”

“Come now, Mr Malfoy. Your mother has informed us only of what you ought to have yourself. We’ve sent for Mr Potter, and will explain the situation—”

“No! I refuse to let you tell him!” He forced himself to sit upright, his arms flailing uncoordinatedly, disrupting the bedding as he tried to get off of the bed. “Let me go. You can't keep me here!”

“Mr Malfoy, if you do not calm yourself, I will have no option but to administer Dreamless Sleep, and then you will miss the opportunity to voice any concerns you may have once Mr Potter arrives.” The matron clicked her tongue against her teeth as she tucked the sheets back in around his body, ignoring the stuttering groans of indignation that fought to leave him.

“Now, as I was saying before you decided to have an attack of the hysterics, when Mr Potter has been informed of the situation, we will ask him if he will consent to the bonding. As I, being Headmistress, am legally able to perform bonding ceremonies, I will preside over the discussion and, Merlin willing, the eventual ceremony. In the meantime, Madame Pomfrey will monitor your condition. You will be excused from all classes and assignments until such a time that you are given a clean bill of health. Your mother has requested, and been granted, permission to stay with you through this difficult time.”

Draco had no words, none whatsoever, and that was a first. Apparently, nothing he could say or do would prevent them from telling Potter. He’d felt as though he were finally at peace on the Great Hall floor. Why couldn’t he have died then? But no, he needed to suffer through Potter telling him to fuck off and die without bothering him first. He couldn’t help but wonder if Potter would wish he had left Draco to die in the Room of Requirement after all, just to avoid the inconvenience of being Draco’s core mate. Soulmate. Whatever people wanted to call it. If Draco were being honest with himself, it would have been easier for everyone if he had.

* * *

Potter had taken the news about as well as Draco had predicted he would and was currently being calmed down by the matron and McGonagall in the small hospital wing office. The yelled protests were that much louder thanks to the silence in which he found himself sitting, his mother looking at him in something akin to apprehension. At the moment, Potter was currently ranting about “How convenient that I’m the only person who can help the git?” and raving that “It’s some last-ditch ploy to save his shot reputation. How can you believe anything he says?” Draco closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows, doing his best to shut the whole situation out. His mother kept huffing each time she disagreed with something Potter yelled, which was frequently. How he longed to tell her to go home, or go have a cup of tea, or even to just breathe quietly. 

Salazar, he was exhausted. It was a pity that he couldn’t just get on with it and die now, that way he wouldn’t need to listen to Potter’s screeching. A sudden tugging at his blankets caused him to open his eyes to find his mother straightening the bedclothes with quick swipes of her hands. 

“Mother, what are you doing?” sighed Draco through gritted teeth. It was amazing how he managed to sound exhausted and furious at the same time. 

“They’re not proper, dear.” She continued working out imaginary creases until, finally satisfied, she let him be. She settled in the seat closest to the bed and was blessedly still. Draco was so grateful he managed to summon a wan smile for her before closing his eyes once again.

“Mr Potter!” Madam Pomfrey’s sudden yell almost caused Draco to jump out of his pyjamas. “If you insist on behaving like a bad-tempered, overgrown baboon, then I will have no choice but to sedate you! Now, you will remember your manners and behave in this hospital wing with proper decorum!”

He could imagine Potter looking sheepish when faced with the angry matron. Merlin, the woman was frightening. However, before he could try to decipher Potter’s mumbled response, his mother began to fuss with his water glass and jug, causing the ice to clatter against the glass as it sloshed around in the water. 

“Are you feeling thirsty, Mother?” Determined to maintain some semblance of hold on his rapidly thinning patience.

“No dear, but this water doesn’t look fresh. How are you going to manage to stay hydrated if the water is less than adequate?”

He began counting under his breath as she bustled around, emptying the jug and filling it with her wand. “Thank you, Mother. You should sit down though; you look tired.”

“I must admit, I am a bit.” She smiled at him as she once again sat in her chair, and he breathed a sigh of relief, laying back down.

“You know, I would really feel better if you would have some water just now; you’re looking a bit—”

“For the love of the founders! Can you just back off?” Draco didn’t remember sitting up, or where the sudden burst of energy had come from, but it didn’t seem to matter. He felt hot and prickly, as if his magic was scorching him from the inside out. 

“Now really, Draco. There’s no need—”

“There’s every need!” he practically yelled, his chest heaving frantically. “Look, Mother, I’m very grateful that you’re here for me, but I need you to back up and let me breathe!”

“You’re being very loud—”

“You’re fussing! Fixing the bed and the water!”

“The water was old—”

“It was fucking fine!” His head was beginning to pound with the stress of it all, his vision shimmering precariously.

“Draco! Really, you should think about how you’re speaking to me!” His mother’s mouth had thinned dangerously, her eyes glinting wetly. Well, that was too bad, because he was upset too, and, at that moment, he was the injured party and had plenty to say. He pushed himself out of the bed and forced his wobbling legs to take his weight.

“I am an adult. Yes, you may be my mother, but I’m no longer your little boy. I stopped being one when you stood by and watched the Dark Lord brand this —” Draco stepped closer to his mother and held his marked forearm aloft in front of her face — “mark onto my arm. You need to let me make my own choices, because they _are_ mine!” His eyes began to smart as the tears he had been holding inside all these years began to force their way out. “I spent my entire childhood with Father making my choices, and then _Him_ making my choices. Now it’s _my_ turn to make _my_ choices, and I’m not going to let anyone get in the way of that! Not even _you_ , Mother!” His throat felt like he’d swallowed glass as he tried to gulp down the well of fury and panic that was beginning to bubble inside of him. He glanced at his mother, who was somehow managing to look both ice cold and affronted at the same time. 

“When have I ever tried to make your choices for you?”

“What about earlier? You told them about _my_ condition even though I told you I didn’t want anyone to know about it!”

“You were being stubborn—”

“So what? I can be stubborn all I bloody want!” 

“Not if it ends up with you killing yourself.”

“Yes, Mother! That’s exactly what I mean! It’s my life, and if I want to make a choice that affects the length and quality of my life, then you need to accept it. Look at this! Look at what you’ve caused!” He found himself gesturing in the general direction of Pomfrey’s office as he tried his damndest to make his mother understand. “Instead of getting to choose for myself, there are three people in there; Three! Deciding on my fate! And not one of those people is me!” The energy gathering at the tips of his fingers nipped and burned, as if desperate for an outlet. 

He ran the back of his hand across his forehead, surprised to find his hand covered in sweat. He looked at his mother — she looked so concerned and faded around the edges, like she was blending in with the background. She was saying something to him, coming towards him, but it was like he was watching a badly recorded memory in a cheap Pensieve. Why didn’t she speak up? He resolved to tell her to enunciate just as soon as the room stopped spinning. 

The room narrowed down, the dark edges honing in closer and closer. As the last bit of light faded out, he found himself wishing he hadn’t been so hard on his mother — she meant well. 

* * *

It was dark outside when Draco finally regained consciousness. The lights in the infirmary had been dimmed, casting sinister-looking, elongated shadows across the walls. There were no signs of McGonagall or Madam Pomfrey. His mother was sitting in her usual chair by his bed, whispering hurriedly with none other than Harry Potter. From the look on Potter’s face, whatever she was hissing at him wasn’t anything good. 

“Do speak up, Mother,” yawned Draco with as much dignity as he could muster. “It’s rather difficult for those of us on our deathbeds to contribute if you insist on whispering.” His mother and Potter looked at him with varying degrees of surprise, and in Potter’s case, annoyance.

“You gave us quite a scare,” his mother informed him as she stepped over to kiss his forehead. “I should inform the Headmistress that you’re awake. Perhaps Mr Potter has something he would like to discuss with you?”

Draco barely fought back a groan at the idea of his mother interfering once again. What the hell had she said to Potter? Not that Potter rightly gave a rats arse about ex-Death Eaters like himself. Draco didn’t bother to look up at the sound of spike heels fading as his mother clipped out of the infirmary. He looked over at Potter and noticed his face was blotchy, as if he had been crying, or had been slapped on both cheeks. Personally, Draco hoped it was the latter.

“If you have something to say to me, then, by all means, get on with it. I have a very busy evening of potion-taking and napping to get on with.”

At first, Draco wasn’t sure if Potter had heard him — he certainly gave no evidence of it — but after a long moment, he raised his gaze to look Draco in the eye. Even then, Draco wasn’t sure he was actually going to say anything. Eventually, in a broken, scratchy voice, he began to talk.

“I didn’t know, you know, that you were sick. You always seemed fine, and I made sure I never looked close enough to notice anything different.” Potter sucked his lower lip into his mouth and began to worry the plump pink flesh with his teeth as if he were debating how best to articulate his thoughts. “Everyone lied. They always did. The Dursleys, Snape, Dumbledore. Especially Dumbledore. I guess I was just waiting for the next great lie to come along. And then suddenly I’m the only one who can save the day again, and it was — it was just too close to home, you know?” 

Draco held Potter’s gaze and waited as patiently as he could. Of all the things he thought Potter would say to him, he never thought it would be anything close to this. 

“I thought you’d manage to fool everyone again, and I was so fucking angry that no one would listen to reason!” Potter’s eyes grew wider as he spoke, making them gleam like emeralds in the sun. “But then you were shouting and you fell. Merlin, you looked so pale and small. For a minute I thought you’d died, you were so still, and all I could think was how it was my fucking fault ‘cause I didn’t give you the bloody benefit of the doubt.”

“Considering our pasts, Potter, one could hardly blame you for that.” The smile Draco gave Potter was grim and wan and seemed to add to whatever guilty conscience Potter was already wrestling with. 

“The past is exactly that, as it should be. I didn’t come back from the dead and kill Voldemort for the same old shite to show its ugly head again, otherwise, what was the point of it all?” Potter got up from his chair and sat at the foot of the bed near Draco’s feet, careful to not actually touch him. 

“Your mother invoked the life debt I owe her—” Draco went to interrupt, furious that she could still meddle after what he had said to her earlier, but Potter held up his hand to stop him and continued on doggedly. “She should never have had to. Someone, no matter who, needed me to save their life, and I acted like a total prat about it. No, I don’t have to like it and neither do you. We just have to do it. And so, to that end, I agree to bond with you as soon as it can be arranged.”

“Potter,” breathed Draco, feeling completely poleaxed by the sudden turn of events, “it wouldn’t work. We hate each other, and if you didn’t kill me, I would certainly kill you. We wouldn’t last a week!”

“What’s wrong, Malfoy? Scared?” Potter lifted the side of his mouth in a resigned smile as he uttered their usual challenge to each other. Draco was glad for the familiar territory and seized upon it with an iron grip.

“You wish, Potter.” He sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t have to die; not yet anyway. “You know we’re going to make each other utterly miserable?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”


	4. Hate Me Being Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bonding night and the immediate aftermath.

* * *

_December 1998_

* * *

Draco stood at the window in his room — their room, and looked out at the snow covering the grounds. It looked like it was going to be a white Christmas after all. The ceremony had been small; “Family only,” McGonagall had advised. His mother had looked beautiful in her ice blue robes, the white fur trimming the edges making her look like a fairy-tale snow queen. Molly Weasley had been there for Potter, her red hair frizzing haphazardly from under her midnight-blue hat. She had sniffed the entire way through the ceremony as if it were a wake and not a bonding. He and Potter had locked eyes and joined hands in resignation as the magic of the bonding fizzled through them both, stripping away their freedom to choose. As the final ribbons of light wrapped around them and dimmed, so did Draco’s dreams of getting married and having an heir. When thought about that way, Draco supposed it may well have been a wake.

Their suite — one of the few in the castle — was generally reserved for married members of the faculty, McGonagall had informed them. They had a large double bedroom, an ensuite bathroom, and a small seating area. The window was huge and boasted a comfortable seat along its sill. It was the sort of room Draco would have done anything to have in his earlier years, but now? He’d settle for simply having autonomy over his life.

Behind him, the door opened and thudded closed, signalling the arrival of Potter — Harry. They were bonded, surely that put them on a first-name basis? He turned around and stared at Harry, the way his silver robes hung from his sloped shoulders as he leaned against the closed door. Draco found himself meeting Harry’s stare, noting that he looked about as happy with the current situation as he himself was. They found themselves holding the melancholic look, breaking it only to blink heavy lids over wet eyes. The silence stretched on between them like a gaping chasm. They both knew what came next once it was breached.

“I don’t know what to do. You know, where we go from here…” Harry’s voice shook slightly at the end of the sentence, speaking volumes of his nerves in a way his words never could. 

“I suppose we could talk? First, I mean. Before…” 

“They said it needed to happen soon or the bonding would fail.”

“Soon, but not right away. Suppose we get comfortable and at least try to feel less awkward about it all?”

“Right.” Harry was nodding as he spoke, as if trying to lend his words some authority. “Right, I’m just going to get out of these robes. Into my pyjamas, I mean. Not naked…I mean, I know we’ll need to eventually…not that I’ve thought about it…” The more he spoke, the more panicked the look in Harry’s eyes became. Honestly, Draco was feeling the same, and it was this sense of kindred that made him want to put the other man at ease.

“I agree, pyjamas and then we’ll go from there.” He forced himself to walk to his dresser and lift out a black t-shirt and a pair of grey bottoms. “I’ll change in the bathroom if that’s ok?” Then, without waiting for an answer, he went into the bathroom, closing the door securely behind him.

It was a good twenty minutes later when Draco finally emerged from the bathroom holding his folded clothes with his wand balanced on top. He’d spent two minutes of that time getting changed and cleaning his teeth, and the rest of the time focused on giving himself a mental pep talk. It was just as well, really, because every ounce of cool he’d ever thought he possessed seemed to elude him the second his eyes fell on Harry nervously twisting the hem of his top as he perched on the edge of the bed. Definitely time well spent, in his opinion. 

Harry had changed into a loose white t-shirt and blue striped pyjama bottoms that looked about a size too big. His glasses were off and his feet were bare, and Draco couldn’t help but think that his toes must be cold. Before he could overthink the gesture, he cast a Warming Charm, noticing Harry’s toes beginning to uncurl as subdued warmth began to spread around the room.

“Thanks. I didn’t realise I was cold until now.”

“Can…Should I sit with you, or—” Merlin, Draco hated feeling so unsure of everything. What was worse, he was as good at hiding it as Weasley was at hiding his ginger heritage! It would have been intolerable if Harry wasn’t obviously feeling exactly the same. 

“Sure, you can sit. It’s not like we’re not about to get a lot more up close and personal than this in a bit.” It would have been funny if it weren’t for the bitterness practically dripping from Harry’s tone. Draco lifted his mouth in a muted smile and placed his clothes on top of the dresser before padding over to sit on the bed, his wand in hand. 

“Diving right into the heart of the matter as per usual?”

“What was it Ron said? Oh yeah, _‘just in and out, mate, and then it’s done!’_ Draco tried his best not to wince at Harry’s bitter scoff, which was softened only by the self-deprecating smile he offered before continuing. “I’ve had so much useless advice on this whole thing I could cry.”

“Yeah, I got pretty much the same advice from Blaise, except his was more along the vein of, ‘ _you need to do it, so you might as well make the most of it. Sex is sex, after all!’_ Really, the depths of the man’s whoring seems to be taking on a whole new level.” 

The shared moment seemed to dissolve, causing both of them to lower their eyes, each unwilling to be the one to take the initiative.

“Shit!” hissed Harry suddenly. Draco stared at him in surprise as Harry swiped his hands roughly through his hair in obvious frustration. “I don’t fucking want to do this!” Draco narrowed his eyes as he processed that, determined not to let the anger sparking in his chest take hold. 

“What, and you think _I_ do? That I woke up one morning and thought how nice it would be to fuck you or die if I don’t?” His words seemed to snap Harry out of his self-pity, his lip curling as his burning green eyes met stony grey. 

“Forgive me if I’m not jumping up and down with enthusiasm!” Draco felt Harry’s words as if he had been slapped, the sarcastic words mocking his pride. If that was how Harry wanted to be about it, then fine. 

“You know what? Weasley was right. We should get this over with.” Draco quickly reached out for Harry, his hands gripping Harry’s face with bruising force, bringing them close enough for their heated breaths to mingle.

“Get the fuck off of me!” snarled Harry, as he grabbed fistfuls of Draco’s t-shirt in an attempt to push him away.

“Why?” breathed Draco, tightening his hold the more Harry tried to push free. “Scared? Worried you won’t be able to get it up?” He darted his tongue out and flicked it across Harry’s mouth. The contact, wet and over too quickly to think about, caused Harry to gasp and Draco, relishing the sound, couldn't help but push Harry further. “Or are you worried you’ll like it too much?”

“Fuck you!” Harry growled and, instead of pushing Draco away, pulled him closer and roughly fastened his warm lips over Draco’s. The kiss was bruising, punishing, sending an electric jolt through Draco’s body straight to his cock, causing him to mouth soundless curses of pleasure. As if he were waiting for it, Harry seized Draco’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard. The taste of copper trickled onto Draco’s tongue from where Harry’s teeth pierced his flesh, sending bolts of fury-fuelled lust throughout his body. 

Draco shifted onto his knees, giving him the height advantage over Harry, causing his swollen and bloodied lip to slip free. He pressed forwards, tilting his head to the side and slotted their lips back together again. Harry parted his lips, taking the kiss deeper, and Draco couldn’t help but slip his tongue into Harry’s mouth, groaning as Harry met it with his own, their mouths sliding wetly together. 

Lost in the sensation of the kiss, Draco slid his hands from Harry’s face up to his hair, his fingers snaking their way into the thick dark curls and tugging them tightly in his fists. The pain seemed to urge Harry on, as he used his grip on Draco’s t-shirt to flip him onto his back and lay on top of him, never once breaking the kiss. 

Salazar, Draco couldn’t think about what he was doing or who he was doing it with, the feeling of Harry’s body pressing down upon him chasing everything except the pursuit of lust from his mind. He met Harry kiss for kiss, touch for touch, grinding his rapidly filling cock up into Harry’s own swollen bulge. When Harry nipped painfully at his jaw, Draco retaliated by pulling their mouths together to bite Harry’s tongue. When Harry scratched his teeth along his earlobe, Draco sucked a bruise onto the side of Harry’s neck. Draco’s t-shirt had ridden up during their writhing, and Harry seized the opportunity to run his hands over Draco’s chest, pausing to twist and pinch his nipples almost to the point of pain, causing Draco to yelp as he arched up into the sensation. 

The sudden need to feel Harry’s skin on his own descended upon him, like thousands of fire ants devouring him. He reluctantly released his grip on Harry’s hair and yanked the white top over Harry’s head, throwing it to the floor. Harry, seemingly on the same page, lifted off of Draco, allowing him to take his own t-shirt off as well before lowering himself back onto him, both of them gasping as the heated flesh of their chests and stomachs touched properly, intimately, for the first time. 

Draco strained to get closer to Harry, searching for more friction. Harry sucked and bit at his collarbone, and Draco found himself gasping for more. He dug his fingernails into Harry’s back and dragged them up and down, scoring the flesh, causing Harry to growl hungrily into his mouth. Draco wanted to get at him. He wanted to hurt him and mark him and — Merlin, help him — he wanted Harry to do the same to him. He wanted their consummation to scorch him from the inside out, cauterising the wounds that still seeped from the war, and his father, and all that life had thrown at him. 

Until he didn’t.

The heat from Harry’s touch was suddenly too much, the brands Harry left across his skin a new kind of torture. He pulled his mouth away from Harry’s neck, desperate for air, but found himself gasping around Harry’s tongue instead. He was no longer pulling and scratching at Harry’s back, but was shoving and scrambling at his chest, unable to stand the proximity a second longer. 

The few agonising seconds it took for Harry to notice the abrupt change seemed endless, and Draco barely managed to hold back grateful sobs when Harry suddenly backed off of him. Confused worry filled Harry’s lust-blown eyes as Draco began to scramble off the bed, and all at once, he knew he had to get away. He spun on his heel and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. 

He stood on the tiled floor, unsure what to do next. All he knew was that the room was too small, the air was too thin, and the tears that he’d fought so hard to contain were finally cascading down his shocked face. He shuffled backwards, disoriented, until his back hit the wall next to the sink and slid down, leaving him sprawled on the cold tile, sobbing dejectedly into his hands, the fluorescent light above him beaming down harsh judgement.

* * *

Draco had no idea how long he’d been sitting on the floor. His legs were prickly with pins and needles, and his arse was numb with cold. Harry seemed to have taken the hint that he needed some space. He’d been sure Harry would have pounded his way in by now, demanding they get on with it and finish the job in true Gryffindor fashion. The self-sacrificing idiot!

He leaned his head back against the wall and sighed heavily, the stabbing in his lungs making the simple act that much more difficult. He tugged a shaking hand through his hair, letting his fingers form a fist, and pulled, hoping the sharp pain would help anchor him. It didn’t, but instead simply mixed with the pain that was already working its way through his body. The small reprieve he’d gotten from the bonding ceremony made the return of his symptoms that much worse. He knew he was nearing the deadline for the bond to be either consummated or nullified, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. 

His reverie was interrupted by a soft rapping on the bathroom door, which Draco opted to ignore. A moment later, Draco watched distractedly as Harry stepped over to him, but before he could reach out to…help?…hurt?…Draco suddenly seemed to fully register Harry’s presence, fingernails scraping painfully on the tiles as he tried to get away, panic filling his eyes when he realised there was nowhere left to go. Draco kept his wary eyes on Harry, as the man crouched down next to him, one hand held up in a placating gesture. 

“Draco? What did I do? Whatever it is, I’m sorry.” Typical Potter — typical Harry — thinking everything can be fixed with a vague apology and good intentions. Draco shook his head, unable to formulate words to let Harry know that he was quite fine where he was, thank you very much, and that he should continue on with his life as if Draco had never collapsed in the Great Hall. Something of his meaning must have shone through, because the concerned look he had been aiming towards Draco so far had taken on a more anxious quality as he reached out to lay a gentle touch on Draco’s arm.

“Draco— Shit, you’re freezing! Look, let’s just get you off this floor and then we can talk about the other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” Draco found himself chuckling darkly at Harry’s attempt of playing down the situation. “Sure, talk about _other stuff,_ like the inconvenience of fucking me or leaving me to die? Other stuff like that, you mean?”

“Godric, give me strength!” huffed Harry, looking highly miffed at Draco’s mocking. “You don’t like to make things easy, do you? Let’s just, I don’t know, take this a step at a time, and step one is just getting up off this fucking cold floor, okay?”

“The floor is cold? No shit, Potter!” scoffed Draco, his hands shaking violently even as he fluttered them at his throat in mock surprise. “I might not make things easy, but _you_ have a ridiculous need to state the obvious. The floor is cold. Salazar! Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know?”

“Okay…you want me to tell you something you don’t know? When I was being sorted, the hat wanted to put me in Slytherin.”

“What the hell are you on about, Potter? Fuck off!”

“No, seriously. It said _‘Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness_.” Harry’s attempt to mimic the Sorting Hat was so far off, Draco couldn’t help but snort a laugh.

“Then, why didn’t it?” Draco hated that he sounded so interested, but damn if that wasn’t the last thing he thought Harry would have come out with. “If Slytherin was going to be so great for you, why dump you in Gryffindor?”

“Because I asked it to,” replied Harry simply.

“Why?” Draco breathed, unable to look away from Harry.

“I’ll make you a deal. You get off this floor and into something warm, and I’ll tell you why. Agreed?”

Draco barely had time to nod his head before Harry had wrapped his hands around his biceps and hauled him unsteadily to his feet. 

“Hey, watch the goods,” he admonished snootily, although the effect was ruined by the chattering of his teeth.

Harry helped him back into the bedroom, pressed him down onto the small sofa and wrapped a large, fluffy blanket around him. Then, Harry quickly shrugged back into his t-shirt and pushed his bare feet into his trainers, before dashing off to the kitchens for ‘ _something warm_ ’. Sure enough, he’d only been gone about five minutes when he reappeared in the doorway, out of breath and holding a large flask and two mugs. Draco raised his eyebrows questioningly, at which Harry merely smiled, closed the door securely behind him, and poured them both a steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

Draco found himself groaning almost obscenely as he took a generous sip, before wrapping his long fingers around the mug, trying to leech some of the warmth. Harry seemed to notice, as a Warming Charm flared to life around him without warning, chasing away the chills left in his bones from sitting on the cold bathroom tiles. The irony that Harry was the one warming him up instead of the other way around made him snort a quick laugh. Draco felt the sofa cushions shift as Harry sat beside him, curling his legs underneath himself as he sipped his drink. They looked at each other, both aware of the Erumpent in the room and neither willing to be the first to mention it.

“So, I do believe you owe me the rest of your Sorting story. Why did you ask to be placed in Gryffindor?”

“Well, I didn’t, not really. I just asked it not to place me in Slytherin, and it decided that Gryffindor was the next best thing. It was because of you, you know.”

“What was—?”

“You were such an arse in Madam Malkin’s and on the train. And I’d heard from Ron and Hagrid that Slytherin had some evil wizards in it, so I thought I’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Charming,” drawled Draco, his eyebrows raised once again.

“Oh, shut it. You were a berk, and you know it.” Draco watched as Harry squinted into his mug as if there was courage or answers to be found within it. “So, are we going to sit here while you literally fade away to nothing, or are we going to talk about this whole bonding sex thing?” 

“What do you want me to say, Harry?” Draco sighed heavily, wishing it were already tomorrow. “It’s not that big of a deal. What is death? I mean, really? There are worse things.”

Harry was quiet for a moment, his forehead scrunched up, as if Draco’s question was giving him a headache. “Dumbledore once told me that death was just the next great adventure. But on the other hand, you need to remember this is the same guy who thought ‘Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak!’ was an appropriate start-of-term speech, so I’ll leave it for you to decide if he was right or not.”

Draco couldn’t help but snuffle a laugh at that, because as great as the old man had been, there was no doubt he was also a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

“Well, whatever it is, it can’t be worse than this.”

“This…” Harry flapped his hand for a moment between them, “…doesn’t need to be bad.” 

“You can’t really believe that.” Draco couldn’t keep the defeatist tone from his voice. It felt as if he’d done nothing but think and talk about it ever since his diagnosis.

“I do.” Draco watched doubtfully as Harry put his mug down on the side table and gave him his full attention. “Yes, this sucks, but so does much of life. No, we don’t have a choice on actually doing it—” Draco made to interrupt with the fact that they actually did have a choice, but Harry held up his hand, brooking no interruptions. “Make no mistake, Draco, we _are_ doing it — but we do have a choice on _how_ we do it. Let’s just try again, and this time, maybe we could make it less of a hate fuck and more of a…I don’t know…new beginning?”

“Your determination to look on the bright side of everything is even more nauseating than my core sickness.” Draco had meant his words to be scathing, but they came out almost gentle, coaxing a sheepish grin from Harry. Draco placed his mug on the floor, the fluffy blanket slipping slightly from his shoulders, as he turned to face Harry more directly. 

“I don’t want to, Harry. This…this isn’t how I thought my first time would be.” 

“You know, it’s my first time too.” Draco fixed Harry with a wide-eyed stare, unable to hide his surprise at Harry’s confession. “I know that everyone thinks I’ve had more sex than Seamus and Zabini put together, being the Saviour and all that, but I haven’t. I always wanted something more than a quick fumble and a hangover.”

“See! That just proves my point. Why shouldn’t you get to have something more? Why shouldn’t I? It shouldn’t have to be with someone who hates us, who’s only doing it because they must.”

“I don’t hate you, Draco.”

“Don’t you?” Draco couldn’t resist. The idea that Harry might not hate him was both ludicrous and comforting.

“No. I don’t think I ever did. Not really.”

“I don’t hate you either, but that’s hardly a scene from An Affair To Remember!”

“You do know that’s a Muggle movie, don’t you?” Harry noted blankly as if the prospect of Draco knowing what a movie even was only added to the surrealism of the situation.

“Can we try to stay on topic, Potter? You’re the one who wanted to talk this out.”

“Merlin,” sighed Harry, running his hands over his face. “This whole thing would be so much easier if we could just get pissed and be done with it.”

“Tell me about it.” Draco had briefly considered that option, until they had informed them both that the consummation had to take place without any impairments or magical aids. A shiver suddenly worked its way down his spine, forcing him to try and disguise the shudder as a haughty sniff. However, one look at Harry’s concerned frown told him that he hadn’t managed it.

“Let’s just give it one more try, start slow and see where we end up. If we wait much longer, I’ll need to take you to the hospital wing.” Draco closed his eyes for a moment. He really didn’t want to go back to that depressing little bed and have Madam Pomfrey poke and prod at him again. Bracing himself with a deep breath, he opened his eyes and forced himself to hold Harry’s gaze.

Slowly, he slid closer to Harry on the sofa until their outer thighs were touching, careful to keep eye contact as he moved. 

Harry, it seemed, had frozen in place as Draco began to lean in until their lips were a hair's breadth away from each other, warm breaths mingling between their mouths. Harry didn’t move as Draco hovered, until at last, Draco tentatively touched his mouth to Harry’s, his lips moving in small, unsure increments as he allowed himself to get used to the gentle sensation. At last, Harry seemed to snap out of his trance, and Draco felt reciprocating pressure against his lips, the warm wetness of Harry’s mouth making him want to lean into the kiss and take it deeper. 

Slow, he reminded himself, as his fingers itched to wind their way into Harry’s hair. They were going to take it slow. Slow was kissing, and so he tilted his head more to the side and opened his mouth a little more. Harry, who apparently had the same idea, slid his tongue across Draco’s lips, drawing a low groan from Draco as he felt it enter his mouth and curl around his own. The lust from earlier was bubbling away on a slow boil just underneath his skin and, unable to stop himself, he climbed to straddle Harry’s lap, the fluffy blanket still clinging to his shoulders, his knees bracketing Harry’s thighs as he hovered just above the visible bulge in Harry’s bottoms. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist under the blanket, causing Draco to shiver and gasp as warm fingers ghosted the pale skin on his back.

Their kisses grew more frantic — with tongues and teeth — making both of their bodies hard with desire. Unable to fight the need any longer, Draco pushed his hands into Harry’s hair, using the leverage to tug Harry’s head back so he could kiss his way along the now exposed jawline, relishing in the burn of slight stubble rubbing against his sensitive skin. The need to mark Harry began to rise again, and he found himself pulling Harry’s t-shirt off, unable to stop from running his hands all over Harry’s chest. Draco scraped his nails across pebbled nipples, making Harry growl and arch up to capture Draco’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Draco returned the kiss with fervour, sucking on Harry’s tongue obscenely as Harry began to run his hands over the globes of Draco’s arse cheeks. 

“More,” murmured Draco, as he finally settled himself on top of Harry’s lap and ground down, his cock reaching full hardness after mere seconds of clothed contact with Harry’s arousal.

“Draco, Merlin, can I?” Warm hands were hovering just under the waistband of his bottoms, and Draco found himself nodding, suddenly desperate as those hands slid down over his arse, grasping his buttocks and pulling him impossibly closer, giving Draco that much-needed friction on his aching cock. 

“Please, more,” begged Draco, reaching to grab the waistband of Harry’s bottoms. 

“I can’t…We need…Hold on a sec,” Harry gasped and waved his hand over their hips, nodding in satisfaction as their bottoms vanished, effectively removing the barrier between their cocks. 

“Of course,” growled Draco, revelling in the feeling of Harry grinding their cocks together. “Of course the bloody Saviour can do wandless bloody magic.”

“It’s never worked for anything more than a Lumos before,” moaned Harry, as they began to leak pre-cum over each other, making the slide of their cocks that much better.

“I—I guess you just needed an in—incentive.” Draco gasped as Harry leaned forwards and sucked greedily on one of his nipples. “Oh Circe! Fuck, Harry…the spells. Can you—” 

Harry summoned his wand from the bedside table, not willing to trust Draco’s safety and comfort to wandless magic, and cast the Protection and Preparation Spells that Madam Pomfrey, much to their extreme embarrassment, had advised they use. 

“Please,” begged Draco, the liberal coating of the cool lube making him ache for Harry’s cock. He reached between them to position himself over Harry’s swollen head, bewilderment filling him as Harry pulled his hand away.

“Not yet,” Harry explained, beginning to inch his fingers closer and closer to Draco’s arsehole. “I need to make sure you’re open, remember? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Draco’s reply was lost as Harry ghosted the tip of his middle finger across his hole, causing Draco to arch and clench his arse muscles. 

“Shhhh,” soothed Harry, “let me take care of you.” Draco rested his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, gasping and writhing as Harry worked the tip of the finger into his wet hole, until it was inside him up to the knuckle.

“Yes,” hissed Draco, pressing back against the digit inside him. “Another, try another one!”

Slowly, Harry steadily worked two and then three fingers inside Draco, scissoring his fingers and making sure he was as open and ready as possible, before abruptly hooking them into his prostate with unerring aim. Draco mewled with pleasure as Harry teased the bundle of nerves, certain he would lose his mind from the sensation.

“Now, Harry. I need it now!” demanded Draco, and Harry quickly pulled his fingers from his body with an audible squelch and lined up the head of his cock with Draco’s loosened hole. 

“Look at me,” breathed Harry. Draco felt his eyes fly open and, as they locked eyes, he pressed down, letting the head of Harry’s cock stretch him impossibly as he lifted up and sunk down lower and lower, taking Harry inch by inch, until finally Draco’s arse was flush against Harry’s pelvis. 

“Let me— give me a minute. It’s just—”

“Am I hurting you?”

“N—no, it’s just a lot. Just let me adjust.” Harry nodded mutely, beads of sweat forming on his forehead at the effort of holding still. After a long moment, Draco clenched his muscles around Harry’s cock, and began to lift himself up and down Harry’s shaft, moving slowly at first, until it was no longer enough.

“More,” Draco pleaded hoarsely, as he lifted and ground himself with more and more vigour, “I need more.”

Harry took him at his word and began to push up ever so gently into Draco each time he ground down, as if scared to do something wrong. However, once Draco had hissed, “I’m not made of fucking glass, Harry!” he had upped the ante, thrusting up as Draco pushed down, their mouths sliding against each other in a battle for dominance. 

Every few thrusts Harry managed to press against Draco’s prostate, causing his prick to become hard to the point of pain, so Draco was forced to slide a hand between them and stroke himself. The pressure building in his balls was almost unbearable and he found himself unable to stop staring into Harry’s eyes, fascinated by the wonder-filled lust he saw there that surely reflected his own.

All too soon, Draco felt his balls draw up tighter than they had ever been when he wanked, and he heard himself shout as he came, covering Harry’s stomach and his own fist in thick ropes. Harry followed a couple of thrusts behind him, the clenching of Draco’s arse drawing his orgasm from him as he filled Draco’s arse with his release. 

Draco let his eyes close and rested his forehead against Harry’s as he tried to catch his breath. Merlin Salazar’s balls! If he’d known it would have been that good, he might have done it sooner. 

* * *

The glass of the bathroom mirror was cold against Draco’s forehead as he rested against it, his hands braced on either side of the sink. As soon as he’d come down from his orgasm, he’d climbed off Harry’s lap, trying his level best not to wince at the sound of Harry’s cock slipping free from his body. He’d grabbed some new pyjamas from the dresser and all but ran into the bathroom, the door clicking shut mercifully. The memory subconsciously caused his inner muscles to contract, alerting him to the ache left there. His harsh breathing misted up the mirror under his face, and he found himself unable to look his reflection in the eye. Everything was too raw, too tender, and not just inside his arse. 

After a few moments, Draco pushed himself upright and washed his hands and face, the cold water partially shocking him out of his self-pity. There was no point in hiding any more, the situation was what it was and Harry wasn’t just going to disappear. He dug deep and hauled his old mask of indifference onto his face, braced his shoulders, and forced himself to walk into the bedroom.

Harry wasn’t there. The fluffy blanket that Harry had wrapped so carefully around his shoulders was still there, lying on the arm of the sofa. The bed was mussed from their earlier tousle, but otherwise unused. Harry’s shoes and wand were gone, and on the bedside table was a hastily scrawled message on a torn piece of parchment informing him that Harry had needed some fresh air and wouldn’t be long. _Well_ , thought Draco bitterly, _at least he had the decency to leave me a note_. 

He climbed into his side of the bed and pulled the heavy quilt over his weary body. Harry wouldn’t be long and then they could talk. Draco found himself thinking of all the things he needed to say, as if he were preparing for some grand speech. After several long minutes, Draco’s eyes began to flutter closed. As his breathing began to even out, he couldn’t help but think how fitting it was that he would be left, used and alone, on what was essentially his wedding night, Harry’s note still clutched in his hand.


	5. True Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Draco and Harry begin to fall for each other and Draco is that much closer to finding his cure.

* * *

_January 1999_

* * *

Draco sat cross-legged on the window seat, watching as Pansy and Blaise lounged on the sofa arguing over a game of Exploding Snap. Usually, their constant stream of bickering would drive him mad, but he hadn’t had much of a chance to spend time with his friends since he and Harry had been bonded — neither of them had — and Draco couldn’t help but watch his friends fondly as they bantered back and forth, each attempting to cheat and getting caught. Harry was out with Weasley and Granger in Hogsmeade, and Draco could only hope he didn’t come back drunk. Harry, as Draco had discovered on New Year’s Eve, had no stomach for liquor, and the last thing he felt like doing was holding Harry’s hair back as he retched up into the toilet like a bloody novice.

It had been a couple of weeks since their bonding, and for the most part, they managed to get along. Madam Pomfrey had checked him over the very next day, running test after test on him until, finally, she assured him of the rather obvious conclusion that his core was in much better shape. Harry had been amused at Draco struggling not to roll his eyes at the matron. Of course, it wasn’t an instant cure-all, and Draco would need to continue to ‘ _participate in nightly conjugal relations_ ’ for the next month at least, in order to ensure his depleted magic had fully replenished. After that, apparently, they could reduce it to once per week. 

Christmas had been the most dour affair Draco had ever been privy to, and he’d had the Dark Lord living in his house for a year. The majority of students had left for the holidays, as had Weasley and Granger, thank Merlin! The only thing worse than having to spend Christmas at Hogwarts was having to spend Christmas at Hogwarts with Harry’s friends.

Draco’s friends had also left, and so there was nothing for it but for Draco to spend the day with Harry, the two of them switching between ignoring each other and being overly cordial, neither sure how best to navigate the murky waters that were their new life together. Narcissa had visited Draco for an hour on Christmas Day, bringing with her presents for Draco and even one for Harry — a ridiculously ostentatious peacock feather quill. Draco had felt a mad desire to laugh at Harry’s expression as he opened it, before he hoisted a polite smile onto his face and thanked her for the oh-so-kind gift. For the most part, the day was spent in silence. Silence that seemed to bleed into the mandatory sex that night. They didn’t look at each other — they never did after that first time on the sofa. Harry had opted to take him from behind, harsh breaths the only indication that something other than sleep was occurring. Once they’d both come, they’d scooted to their own sides of the bed and fallen into a fitful sleep, taking care not to touch.

New Year’s had been the turning point. He and Harry had sat on either end of the sofa in front of the fire, glasses of Firewhisky at the ready, as they waited on the small mantle clock chiming midnight. Draco’s Christmas gift from his mother, an enchanted gramophone, was playing soft music in the corner. Nothing festive, Harry had requested (and Merlin, he’d had enough of Peeves repeatedly belting out _Good King Wenceslas_ ), so Draco had put on Sticky Fingers by the Rolling Stones, one of his favourite albums. Harry, of course, had noted once again that Draco was indulging in Muggle culture, but Draco simply shrugged in answer, before adding that recently he had had a lot more respect for Muggles than before. Understandably, Harry opted not to comment any further. It was too close to those murky war years that they tended to avoid. 

Once midnight had finally chimed, they shared a relieved toast to a better year, both aware of the ridiculousness of that statement, and got into bed, ready for the obligatory sex. Draco had lain on his side this time, his leg hiked up as Harry diligently did his duty from behind him. Once they were spent, lying in the dark, almost asleep, Harry initiated their whispered conversation.

“Draco? Do you believe in New Year’s resolutions?”

“I used to; now I’m not so sure.”

“Me too.”

“What would you wish for, if resolutions were valid?”

“To live. I feel like we’ve just been sleepwalking through this whole thing, and I don’t want to live like that. If we’re together, then I want it to be more. I want us both to be as happy as we can be. Otherwise, what was the point in winning the war?”

“That’s a good wish. I hope you get it.”

“What about you? What would you wish for?”

What would he wish for? The right to choose. It wasn’t all bad being with Harry, but it wasn’t what he would have chosen for himself. Surely, they both had that right? He felt beholden to his own magic and the resentment of having to rely on Harry to live burned so strong sometimes it was all he could see. Classes were due to start back in a few days, and Draco could feel his resolve set upon discovering a cure as soon as he possibly could. He couldn’t stand being as good as a hostage any more.

Draco took so long to answer, that by the time he whispered the word, “freedom”, Harry was already fast asleep. 

* * *

A knock on the door wrenched Draco from his reverie. Blaise and Pansy were still squabbling over the validity of Pansy’s newly won bundle of cards, Blaise was once again accusing her of cheating, leaving Draco to be the one to answer the door to Ginny Weasley, looking pale and red-eyed.

“I was looking for Harry…”

“He went to Hogsmeade with Weasley and Granger, I suggest you come back another time.”

“Or I could wait for him?”

“Or you could take the hint,” called Pansy as she hefted herself up from the floor to stand behind Draco. 

“Why don’t you say that right to my face and not from behind Malfoy?”

Pansy reacted much like a raging bull that had a red flag dangling in front of its face. Before Draco could process the situation, Pansy had stepped around him, pulling her wand out of her sleeve as she went. Ginny had also drawn her wand and both women were aiming at the other. As quick as a flash, Blaise stepped in between the two women, pushing Ginny’s wand down towards her side, and Draco grabbed Pansy around the waist as she thrashed and bucked, desperate to get to her quarry. 

As if hailed by the ruckus, Harry appeared in the doorway clutching a bundle of packages, flanked by Weasley and Granger, all three looking extremely concerned. To be honest, Draco couldn’t blame them, what with Pansy and Ginny clawing at him and Blaise to get at each other, Ginny’s eyes overflowing with tears.

“What the actual fuck—” demanded Weasley angrily, pulling Blaise away from his sister before turning his fury on Draco. “What did you do to her?”

“I’m not a baby, Ron!” demanded Ginny tearfully. “I can take care of myself!”

“Oh shut it, Weasley.” Draco fought to keep his tone even. He wished he’d never bothered to open the door in the first place. “She came looking for Harry, and then she and Pansy started on each other. I didn’t actually do anything!”

“You didn’t do anything?” parroted Ginny in disbelief. “You’re the reason everyone’s so bloody miserable!”

“Now, wait just a minute—”

“Give it a rest, Zabini, it’s true.” Weasley’s voice was louder than speaking, but not quite a shout. It was impossible and unsettling and Draco wished he would just stop. “If it wasn’t for the Ferret, Harry and Ginny would be happy as clams and my mother wouldn’t have spent Christmas sobbing into Harry’s Weasley jumper that’s sitting under our tree for when he next visits!”

“God forbid anyone upsets the fucking Weasleys!” Blaise’s bitter retort was drowned out by Pansy’s vitriol. 

“So, Draco was just supposed to roll over and die?”

“And why not? Fred did!” Weasley’s comment sucked the air from the room. Harry was visibly reeling and Granger’s chin was wobbling as she tried to calm her boyfriend down.

“Ron, please let’s just—”

“My brother died because of you, and so did Dumbledore, and Tonks—” Ginny broke off, her words hindered by the sobs that were shaking her lithe frame. Draco watched with discomfort as Harry stepped forwards and wrapped a protective arm around her quivering shoulders.

“You can’t pin everyone that died on Draco. That’s now how it happened and you know it.” Granger’s admonishment took everyone by surprise, none more so than herself, judging by the horrified look upon her face when the realisation she had been defending Draco seemed to sink in.

“Everyone, just— Ginny, are you ok?”

“Oh yeah,” Pansy screeched angrily at Harry’s mumbled question, “ask the ginger bint if she’s ok and never mind anyone else!”

“Who’re you calling a bint, you loose bitch?” Ginny’s answering yell caused the room to erupt in chaos, as both women lunged once again towards one another.

“Protego!” Harry’s yell echoed throughout the room as the force of the spell shoved everyone away from each other. “Back off, both of you! What the actual fuck is this? As far as I’m concerned, you can all fuck right off. Draco isn’t to blame for this situation, and neither am I. No one is! And acting like a horde of pissed off Veelas isn’t helping anyone!”

As he finished speaking, he flicked his wand to cancel the Shield Spell, keeping a close eye as he did so.

“How can you say that?” Ginny was no longer crying and looked downright furious at Harry. “If he had just fucked off and died quietly, everyone would have been much happier for it!”

Draco could see from Harry’s expression that Ginny had gone too far, something that Granger also seemed to pick up on.

“Ginny, you need to stop before you say something you can’t take back.”

“Too late for that.” Harry’s voice was cold and flat and Draco found himself wishing for the fire he so often saw in the man. “You need to leave, Ginny. Now.”

Ginny stood for a moment, her mouth hanging open in shock, before turning sharply on her heel and leaving, her red hair billowing dangerously behind her. 

“I think it would be best if everyone, and I mean everyone, left. Draco and I have things to discuss.”

“See you later, Draco.” Blaise patted Draco briefly on the arm and walked confidently out of the room. “I think I’ll go check on little Red.”

“Oi, you keep your mitts off my sister!” yelled Ron, as he tore off down the corridor after Blaise, Hermione jogging along behind her boyfriend, her face worried. 

“Draco—”

“Just go, Pans. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Pansy pressed a kiss against Draco’s cheek and threw a deadly glare at Harry as she set off in the direction of the others.

Draco stood in the middle of the room feeling adrift. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, unable to look Harry in the eye. It _was_ his illness that had brought them all here, after all. Harry picked up the packages he’d dropped when he cast the Shield Charm and placed them carefully at the foot of the bed. 

“I picked you up a few things since you weren’t feeling up to Hogsmeade. I’m going to make sure they all don’t kill each other. I won’t be long.”

He offered Draco a weak smile and exited the room, leaving Draco feeling more alone than he had in a long time.

Draco eyed the packages doubtfully before curiosity got the better of him. He sat on the bed and carefully opened them, one by one, touched by how thoughtful they were. How did Harry remember he was short on ink? That his favourite quill was needing a new nib? He’d even picked up the latest edition of _What’s Brewing?_ — a highly prestigious Potion’s journal for him. Something alien began to flutter inside his chest at the collection of items and Draco knew with absolute certainty it wasn’t his core. 

Sure enough, Harry was back within minutes, sighing about their mates being a bunch of idiots, but that all of them were still more or less in one piece. The fluttering inside Draco’s chest had turned furious, like a caged bird desperate to escape. He stared at Harry, unable to look anywhere else except into those confused emerald pools. Harry looked so unsure as if he were scared of saying or doing the wrong thing. Without realising he’d made the decision to move, Draco suddenly had his arms around Harry and was kissing him with a desperation he had never felt before. Harry responded immediately, kissing Draco back with enthusiasm.

Clothes began to drop to the floor as they ripped t-shirts off and tugged open trousers. All too quickly, they were naked and on top of the bed. They grunted _please_ and _oh, fuck yes_ into each other’s mouths as they kissed and writhed, until Harry was finally lying between Draco’s thighs, his cock embedded balls deep inside of him. This time, as they moved together, it was something more than fucking. Something positive. This time, afterwards, they stay wrapped around each other, pressing soft kisses to each other’s lips, necks, jawlines.

Hands carded softly through sweat-heavy hair and caressed damp skin. Once their breathing was back under control, Harry whispered he was sorry about the slight scarring Draco still wore on his chest until Draco kissed away the need for apologies. A little while later, Draco whispered he was sorry for Dumbledore, saying he would never have gone through with it, only stopping his mumbled words as Harry tightened his grip on his waist. It was the first time they held each other, even as they slept.

* * *

_March 1999_

* * *

The air inside Severus’ room was becoming unbreathable. Perhaps it had been a mistake to experiment with an acid base and unicorn horn, mused Draco, as he vanished as much of the acrid smoke as possible with his wand.

“Can we stop the theatrical wand-waving and get back to the task at hand?”

“ _You_ may not need to breathe anymore, but I sure do!”

“And the pretentious scent you’ve filled the room with?”

“Who doesn’t like the smell of apples? Crisp, fresh, clean. And it doesn’t make me feel like I’m suffocating.”

“Indeed.” 

“Maybe I don’t need to invent a new potion, but simply modify an already existing one. Like an altered version of Amortentia to mimic the bond between the magical cores?”

“That would be highly irregular, Draco. The unstable quality of the Amortentia would make any modifications extremely high risk.” The huff Draco blew out was reminiscent of his younger brattish years and the portrait appeared less than willing to deal with a teenage tantrum. “Perhaps you could try going back to basics? I assume you brought your notes?”

“Of course. I’m not Longbottom,” drawled Draco, rolling his eyes in mock exacerbation. He reached into his bag and pulled out a large clump of parchment. Sighing, he plopped himself down at his workstation and began to flip through the pages, his eyes moving frantically from side to side and he scanned the information he’d managed to gather so far.

“I think you’re right, Uncle Sev, I need to go back to the beginning. I’m just getting further off track..” He pushed his platinum hair, limp from the potion fumes, out of his eyes and sighed heavily. “I think I need to change the base. Water isn’t achieving anything…” He snatched up his Self-Inking Quill and a fresh roll of parchment and began to compile a new list of ideas. 

After a few moments of scratching away at his parchment, Draco lifted his head and focused his gaze on his godfather. 

“I’ve got it narrowed down to two potential bases, I think. It’s a complex and subtle potion, and I think water was just too neutral. There’s ethanol, which considering its use in Pepper-Up, could be useful in terms of its energy bolstering properties. The other option would be sal ammoniac.”

“An interesting choice, it is definitely the more promising of the two in terms of panacea, but it’s also the more temperamental of the two.”

“Not if I stabilise it, it won’t be. Powdered willow bark could manage that. It’s flexible but durable, positive but not overwhelmingly so.” Quickly, he snatched up his quill and added his thoughts to the list. “I need something to counteract the side effects of distance from Harry’s magical core…maybe Ashwinder eggs? They would sort the ague symptoms…”

“Ah, but Draco, those symptoms are merely a product of your condition and not the root cause of what actually ails you.”

“Right, right…” agreed Draco distractedly as he scanned his lists for inspiration. “How about powdered asphodel roots? They work in the Wiggenweld Potion, so why not this one?”

“Powdered asphodel roots in the same mixture as powdered willow bark, Draco? Are you a simple first year?”

“It’ll disintegrate…” murmured Draco, his eyes wide in realisation. “Okay, scratch that.” He felt like vanishing the whole project, but that would be simply cursing his toe to spite his foot and even he wasn’t that stupid. The list of rejected combinations was easily thrice the size of the potential ones — more than.

“You need to stop thinking of your sickness as a taint, which would necessitate the use of an antidote. Nor is your sickness a curse, which would rule out the use of the many cures littering your list. It _is_ a part of you, despite its malfunction, and it is simply in need of repair. You must identify which items on your list are focused upon magical repair and go from there.”

Draco wanted to yell at his godfather, to demand that this sickness had nothing to do with the essence of himself, that it was something despicable done to him that could be removed and forgotten, but of course, Severus was right. His core was part of him.

“Magical repair, that will cope with the sal ammoniac…Essence of Dittany? It’s strong, versatile, pH neutral, and facilitates magical healing.

Severus didn’t need to vocalise that Draco was right — the ghost of a smile lifting the corner of his mouth and the slight sheen of pride in his eyes was more than enough for Draco. Quickly, he pulled his notes closer and began to scribble furiously, pausing now and then only to look up dosages and preparation of volatile ingredients in the ancient-looking reference book next to him. He was close to solving it; he just _knew_ he was.

* * *

The bell signifying the end of Muggle Studies class rang out, and Draco felt almost shaky with relief. The woman was actually talking about a class field trip as a practical test now that they were finishing up Muggle transportation. Outside in the corridor, Blaise was waiting on him, leaning casually against the wall as more than a few passing students openly ogled him. To be fair, Blaise _was_ gorgeous. For a while back in fourth year, seeing Blaise in the communal showers had been Draco’s favourite wanking material. As much as he hadn’t thought about his friend like that in a couple of years, he could still agree the man looked unfairly beautiful. 

“You waited.” Lately, Blaise had been too busy hanging around with Ginny bloody Weasley to spare much time for his actual friends. Draco had been meaning to confront him over it, but with his Potions project almost complete, he found he was often otherwise occupied too.

“Hey,” smiled Blaise, showing a flash of his perfect white teeth. “Where’s Potter?”

“Hospital wing with Neville. The idiot was experimenting with cross-pollinating Venus flytraps and Venomous Tentacula. Seriously, he was lucky Harry was running late on his morning jog, or who knows what would have happened to the great buffoon.

“Merlin! Talk about having a death wish,” mused Blaise, obviously torn between amusement and admiration. “Figured we could skip lunch in the Great Hall and head down to the kitchens instead. I need sensible conversation after that horror of a class.”

“Tell me about it!” groaned Draco in disbelief. “A graded trip from Edinburgh to Paris using three different modes of Muggle transportation? There’s no way I’m doing it!”

“Relax. McGonagall will never sign off on it. Think of the red tape.”

“That’s what you said when she said she was applying to McGonagall for permission for us to take driving lessons and look how that turned out.” Draco could remember the cocky assurance falling from Blaise’s face when they were told McGonagall was more than happy for them to go careening around the grounds in Muggle death machines.

“Fuck, you’re right. I swear, I’m going to miraculously come down with some tropical disease the day before.”

“Oh?” questioned Draco, his eyebrows raised imperiously. “And how do you plan to manage that?”

Blaise shrugged. “I’ll get some Skiving Snackboxes from Ginny.”

“You’ve been spending a decent amount of time with the girl Weasley. Anything you care to tell me?”

“Nothing that you’d care to hear, most likely. I like her. She’s different. She’s fiery and smart and funny and man, can she play Quidditch!”

“Hold on a second, you’re not just after a quick one, are you? You actually like her.”

“Like I said, she’s different.”

“So, is she as mental in bed as her hair colour would lead us to believe?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You haven't— Salazar! You’ve got it bad.”

“Fuck off, Draco,” mumbled Blaise, but the smile on his face told Draco everything he needed to know. 

* * *

Draco had been in the library all evening pouring over ancient tomes until Madam Pince finally had enough and thrown him out for the night, hissing about missed curfews and ungodly hours. He was too weary to muster a retort as he gathered his things and allowed her to herd him through the heavy doors and out into the corridor. He was so exhausted that he barely noticed the journey back to their rooms, operating automatically, and jolting in surprise when he found himself standing outside their door. As if waiting on his return, it opened to reveal a very worried, very irate, Harry Potter. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” demanded Harry as he hustled Draco inside the room and clicked the door closed behind them. “It’s an hour after curfew.”

“Salazar! Can’t you lower your voice? I’ve got a splitting headache.”

“Here, give me that stuff,” ordered Harry firmly, as he took his bag and books from him and sat them onto the sofa. “I was worried about you, that maybe your core was low or something.”

“I’m fine; stop worrying.” Draco found himself suddenly sitting on the bed, Harry behind him, his strong hands working the knots out of his aching neck and shoulders. “I just lost track of time.”

“Well, next time, could you lose track of time without giving me a heart attack? What was so intriguing anyway?”

“My eh…Potions project,” Draco answered shiftily. “You know Severus; he’ll expect me to get top marks for something impossible.”

“You’d think you’d be done by now, what with the amount of time you’re putting into it.”

“I’m missing an ingredient and I’m struggling to figure out what.” Draco leaned further into Harry’s ministrations, biting his lip in pleasure. “It’ll come to me.”

“What’s your project on anyway?” Draco craned his neck around to look suspiciously at him. “What? It’s a valid question? You’re always working on it every chance you get.”

“It’s just a new version of Healing Potion.” Draco found the not-quite-lie came easily to him and relaxed when Harry seemed to take him at his word.

“You’re wanting to go into Healing after graduation?”

“I hadn’t really thought that far.”

“Well, you could, now your core’s stable. You can do anything, go anywhere, as long as it’s not too cold and has a local Quidditch team, otherwise I won’t go with you, and then where will you be?” joked Harry with a light laugh.

It was just meant to be a light comment, Draco knew that, but it stung all the same. Why couldn’t he just get to enjoy the moment without constant reminders of how fake the whole thing was? Unable to relax into the massage any longer, Draco shrugged off Harry’s hands and heaved himself off the bed.

“Draco—”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He could hear his voice laced with strain and tried to smile at Harry, wincing when it caused Harry to look back at him pained. “Honestly, I’m just tired. I’m going to grab a quick shower, okay?”

He grabbed some pyjamas and fled to the bathroom, shutting the door with perhaps slightly more force than was necessary. He turned on the water and began to strip, grumpily tugging his clothes off with less care than he would usually show his belongings. He didn’t want Harry to be with him just because he had to. He wanted him to choose it. 

He stepped under the blistering hot spray, letting the heat pinken his skin. Circe, he was really starting to fall for Harry, something that should herald the end of the world as everyone knew it. A Malfoy voluntarily feeling for a Potter. It was preposterous, ludicrous. And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about all the small things Harry did for him. How easy it was for the man to care for someone he should by all rights hate. More often than not now, Harry walked him from class to class, even if it wasn’t one they shared, even if it made him late for his own class elsewhere. 

He reached for the bottle of shampoo and squirted some onto his hand, frowning as he massaged it carefully into his hair and scalp. His mind drifted to how much he looked forward to waking up in the morning lately. Harry always woke up before him for his morning jog, and never failed to bring him back a cup of coffee, black with one sugar, just the way he liked it. The invigorating aroma rousing him from sleepy memories of his legs wrapped around Harry’s body from the night before.

He finished rinsing his hair and began to wash his body, the citrus scent of Harry’s favourite soap mixing intoxicatingly with the apple scent of Draco’s shampoo. He was rapidly falling for Harry, that much was obvious, enough to do the right thing and let him go. As he watched the last of the soap suds wash down the drain, Draco decided he would redouble his efforts on his cure and set Harry free.


	6. Accidentally In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Draco is cured, the bond is dissolved, and pining is in the air.

* * *

_April 1999_

* * *

The morning found Draco sitting on the window seat, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Harry had worked him pretty hard the night before, wringing two orgasms from his tired body before falling into a boneless sleep. Draco had lain next to him, laden with jealousy. By all rights, he should be snoring in just-fucked bliss, but he was terrified to close his eyes and miss a single moment of his time with Harry. He was just one step away from finalising the potion, that ever-elusive final ingredient, and then Harry would be off. Free. 

He’d shifted onto his side, pausing as Harry snuffled briefly next to him, as he wondered if Harry and the girl Weasley would get back together again. Blaise would be crushed. He’d been hanging around the ginger annoyance like a tenacious fly and still hadn’t shagged her yet. The thought of Blaise being as miserable as himself gave Draco a shameful feeling of comfort. At least he wouldn’t be alone. Maybe he and Blaise could start a broken hearts’ club. They could get t-shirts made especially. The thought, instead of cheering him, only added to the growing heaviness he constantly carried around inside him. 

He’d looked over at Harry’s sleep-relaxed face and couldn’t help a bitter-sweet smile as he reached out and gently traced the indent on the bridge of his nose from where his glasses rested for most of the day. He’d always known this couldn’t last forever, that even without the potion, Harry would one day be free to do what he liked, so long as he met up with Draco for his ‘duties’ every once in a while. Maybe only once a year. The pang of loss from that thought shot through Draco like a red-hot poker, and he was forced to bite down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself gasping in pain. As the feeling ebbed, Draco felt his eyes begin to sting with tiredness and unshed tears, and he rolled into Harry, snuggling his nose into the crease in Harry’s neck, refusing to surrender to the lull of sleep. There wasn’t long until these moments stopped, and he was damned if he was going to miss a second more than he had to. 

Somewhere around dawn, Draco had finally got out of bed and sat at the window, looking out at the sun rising over the damp grounds. Finally, Harry began to stir, and Draco pushed himself off the window seat and climbed back in beside him. Harry did so much for him, the least he could do was wake him up properly.

He lifted the quilt and slid down underneath until his face was level with Harry’s morning erection. He breathed in the musty smell of sleep as he nuzzled his nose into Harry’s groin, pleased when he received a low moan in response. As Harry’s hand fisted his hair, he knew that it was going to be a very pleasurable morning indeed.

* * *

Draco sat cross-legged at the bottom of the bed with Harry’s foot in his lap. They’d opted to have a lazy Sunday and had asked the house-elves to send them up a breakfast tray. They’d kissed and talked and eaten, and then kissed some more, relaxing in each other’s company. Now, they’d struck an easy bargain — Draco massaged Harry’s feet, which were feeling sore from Harry’s frequent jogs, and Harry read the articles from _What’s Brewing?_ to Draco. He hadn’t had a chance to read it yet, what with all the time he’d been spending working with Severus, and Harry had seemed determined to rectify that immediately. 

“You do realise that I have no idea what half of this stuff means?”

“You don’t have to as long as I do.”

“Uh-huh.” Harry looked amused nonetheless as he turned the page and scanned the contents before carrying on. “Oh goodie, _more_ potions stuff.”

“Fine,” huffed Draco, “you can have your foot back and I’ll read it myself.”

“Oi, don’t even think about it,” grinned Harry, wiggling his foot in Draco’s lap. “Keep going!” Draco returned the grin and resumed pressing his thumbs along the arch, feeling smug whenever Harry hummed in pleasure. “Okay, ‘ _Experimental Magic — A Recent Study On The Effect Of Personal Magic In Restorative Draughts.’_ What in Godric’s name is Personal Magic?”

“It’s magic from within the core. I guess it makes sense, in a way, to include the essence of the person the restoration is intended for—” Draco froze as the implications of what Harry had said began to sink in.

“What? Draco, what is it?”

“Let me see that for a second,” he demanded, pushing Harry’s foot off his lap and tugging the magazine out of Harry’s loose grip. His eyes flew over the words, growing wider with each passing second. _This was it!_ It was so bloody simple; how had he not thought of it before? He scrambled off the bed and began to dash around the room, grabbing clothes from drawers in his haste to get dressed.

“Where’re you going? Draco, talk to me.” Harry sounded so worried, and it was the blatant concern oozing from the Gryffindor that caused Draco to slow down for a moment.

“I just realised what the missing ingredient for my Potion’s project is. It was there under my nose the whole fucking time!” He cast a quick Cleaning Charm and began to dress quickly as he grinned excitedly at Harry.

“That’s great, but do you have to go right away?”

“Sorry, but I really need to go before I lose my train of thought.” He finished pushing his feet into his shoes and walked over to where Harry was still lounging on the bed. “Could you maybe come by Severus’ rooms in a couple of hours? I’ll have mostly finished by then.”

“Sounds good to me,” replied Harry, pulling Draco down for a quick, but thorough, kiss before letting him go. “Although you might want to change your jumper.” Harry’s amusement was clear and Draco quickly looked at himself, barely suppressing a snort when he realised he was wearing Harry’s latest Weasley jumper, the scarlet and gold ‘H’ looking particularly vibrant on a background of forest green.

“I’ll just leave it,” he announced to Harry’s obvious surprise and delight. “Knitting machine vomit is all the rage these days, didn’t you know?” He gave Harry a final wave and headed out the door.

“See you soon, and try not to work too hard!” 

Draco barely registered Harry’s parting call, his feet thudding on the stone floor as he ran.

* * *

If Severus was shocked by Draco’s sudden appearance in his room at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning, he certainly masked it very well. He merely put down the book which he had been reading and quirked his eyebrow in question. 

“I figured it out. It was in here all the time, the missing ingredient!” Draco held up the slightly scrunched magazine for Severus to see. “It’s got this article on Healing, where it might be beneficial to infuse a patient’s magic with the potion ingredients, making it more compatible to the patient. Well, what if I put Harry’s magical essence into the potion? That’s what my core needs to help restore itself, right?”

He knew he was being a bit manic, something a Malfoy emphatically did not do, but he couldn’t help it. He’d finally figured it out. He watched Severus avidly as the Potion’s Master processed the news. Then a thin smile quirked at Severus’ lips, causing Draco to feel giddy with elation. 

“You know, I do think you may be onto something. Could you perhaps read me the article in question?”

Draco sat on one of the stools at the workbench, almost falling over in his haste, and began to read the article, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

An hour later, they’d dissected every bit of useful information from the article. Draco had set up his cauldron with the almost completed potion bubbling over a low flame, and was now debating on which particular essence of Harry’s to include. Draco felt this was a process he would be more comfortable tackling on his own, but there was no doubt he needed Severus’ expertise.

“It needs to be energy-filled, life-giving, and with the ability to stabilise and regenerate.” Draco knew his constant verbalising must be driving Severus mad, but to the portrait’s credit, he was managing to maintain a supportive aura. “It needs to be blood, then?”

“I’m not sure it’s wise to focus only on one aspect of essence, Draco. I would advise including as many as possible, as it would cover all bases and make the potion that much more potent.”

“What else could I use other than blood, though,” queried Draco doubtfully. What else is there?”

“Urine,” declared Severus, pointedly ignoring Draco’s horrified expression. “It’s sometimes used in healing potions and has the benefit of being resistant to dissipation.”

“I am _not_ using Harry’s urine in a bloody potion!”

“Then, perhaps you could consider semen? It’s highly potent and gives the added element of potential sexual magic.”

“Semen? Uncle Sev, please!” He had thought the urine discussion had been bad, but that was before his godfather began talking about Harry’s— How would that conversation even go? The thought of strolling up to Harry, handing him a beaker and asking for a deposit was ludicrous. “Look, can we just agree to rule out anything you wouldn’t personally be comfortable collecting yourself? Thanks ever so.”

“If you insist on acting like a bashful child, I will leave you to decide for yourself what to include.” 

With that, Severus sat down at the desk in his portrait and resumed reading his book. Draco wasn’t worried, however, he knew that Severus was still alert and would offer advice if he needed it. He pulled a large reference book back towards him along with the article, determined to choose the right components of Harry’s essence without verging on creepy territory.

* * *

Draco looked up from his notes as Harry breezed into the room humming something unidentifiable, carrying a large bundle of sandwiches and a jug of pumpkin juice which he placed at the edge of the workstation. 

“Thought you could use something to keep your energy up,” explained Harry, leaning in for a light kiss which turned deeper in the blink of an eye.

“If you would be so kind as to keep your cavorting to the privacy of your own chambers…” Severus’s tone was sharp and cold and Draco found he was sorry when Harry hastily jerked back from the kiss.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there, Professor,” muttered Harry sheepishly.

“Yes, I can certainly understand how you could miss a large oil painting framed in polished gold gilding.” Draco couldn’t help but wince at Severus’ tone and decided to intervene before an argument ensued.

“Uncle Sev— I mean, Professor, could you give us a minute?”

“Certainly,” sighed Severus in a bored voice. “I must visit my other portrait anyway. I will be back soon, once you have explained the situation.”

“What was that about?” Harry’s baffled look made Draco cringe. He took a deep breath and plunged in.

“You know that we all need to do a project for Potions? I’ve been using my core sickness for mine. Before you were told, I was looking for a cure so I could bypass bonding with my core mate.” Draco did his best not to fidget, determined to appear calm. “Well, after the Christmas holidays, I kept working on it, rather than starting from scratch on something else.” He looked Harry fully in the eye, determined to see it through. “Harry, it worked. I found a cure.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, you know, it means people with core sickness can take a potion as a more immediate fix—”

“For us,” interrupted Harry in annoyance. “What does it mean _for us_?”

“Oh.” The look of foreboding on Harry’s face made him feel utterly petrified, although he couldn’t figure out why. “We can remove the bonding, and we can go on with our lives like before.”

“Like before,” parroted Harry, his voice flat. “And how do we do that?”

“I need some of your hair, blood, and tears. Your magical essence is my missing ingredient; it's been balancing my core, remember?” 

“You didn’t tell me.” Harry’s cold fury was almost palpable, and Draco couldn’t resist taking a step backwards. “This whole time, for months, you’ve been working on this and you never said anything!”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up—” The sudden flash of hurt across Harry’s face let Draco know he’d said entirely the wrong thing, and he desperately tried to make it right. “You said you didn’t want this, that you hadn’t chosen it. It’s what we both wanted!”

“You know what? Nevermind. Just forget it.” The words were barely legible, Harry’s voice horse through his gritted teeth. Draco watched as Harry reached up and yanked several hairs from his head and dropped them onto the workbench. “That’s the hair. What else was it?” His voice was dull and lifeless, all the things Harry wasn’t, and Draco felt as if he couldn't stand it.

“Harry...” Draco could hear the pleading in his voice, but for the life of him he didn’t know what he was pleading for.

“What else, Draco?”

“Blood and tears.”

He watched as Harry pricked his finger with his wand and dripped a few drops of blood into a small test tube. “Where do you want me to put the tears?” Draco handed him another small test tube and watched as Harry lifted it to the corner of his eye and blinked a single large tear into the phial. As he handed it over, they locked eyes, fingers meeting around the glass. “One tear. That’s all I’ll give you. It’s all you’re worth.” 

“Harry, wait.” Draco shivered, the whole thing suddenly seeming so wrong.

“I’ll see you back at the room then. I’ll get McGonagall. No point in dragging this out.”

Draco had never felt more powerless than he did as he watched Harry walk out of Severus’ rooms. He kept his eyes on the still opened door, lost in thought, until a quiet sniff alerted him that he was no longer alone. He turned to find Severus looking at him, his expression inscrutable. 

“Add the ingredients, Draco, before they are no longer of use.”

Draco nodded mutely and began to add the hair, blood, and single tear to the potion, stirring well before decanting a portion of it into a small bottle. He closed his eyes and breathed for a moment, trying to tramp down the overwhelming feeling that he was making a mistake, and drank the entire potion in two swallows. 

Almost instantly, a current of magic fizzled through his body, warming him from his chest outwards, the rush making him feel slightly lightheaded. So much like the fizzle of energy he had felt during the Bonding ceremony. So much like the way it felt when Harry had come undone inside of him. 

“How do you feel, Draco?”

Unsure of why, Draco can’t bring himself to look at Severus.

“Free.” What he doesn’t add is that the freedom he so craved has somehow left him feeling far more empty and alone than he had ever thought possible.

“Outstanding, Draco. Please remember to include a sample of your discovery when you submit your project next week.”

* * *

The walk back to their room seemed unusually long, the corridors exceptionally vacant. Draco had gone to see Madam Pomfrey when he left Severus’ rooms. He knew the potion had worked, but it made sense to have her give him a thorough check-up to make sure. The matron had been delighted at his discovery and had assured him that his core was completely regenerated. She’d even lauded his creative efforts and insisted that he submit the potion for trial immediately. ‘ _Just think of how many people this could help, you brilliant young man._ ’ Draco was certain he’d never seen the matron so energetic and enthusiastic before. He’d almost recommended she take a calming draught.

When he finally arrived, the door was already open. The space was almost bare, Harry’s usual clutter that covered the surfaces gone. Harry was standing in the middle of the room, his packed trunk at his feet. Before he could overthink it, Draco stepped forwards, anxious to explain things to Harry, when McGonagall slowly rose from where she had been perched on the window seat. 

“Mr Potter informs me that you’ve had somewhat of a miraculous breakthrough. Well done, Mr Malfoy.” Even through the fog of his feelings, Draco could register the Headmistress’ rare praise hidden within the brief statement. However, before he could thank her, she continued on brusquely. “He also informs me that you both wish to dissolve the bonding? This is easily done, however there are possible side effects, dangers of core collapse and depression being the two most common. Do you still wish to proceed?” 

“I—”

“Yes,” Harry interrupted. “We have no reason to stay bonded anymore. As Draco said, we can go on with our lives as if none of this ever happened.” 

“Alright, if you both would join hands, I can cast the counter-spell to disperse the bond.”

Harry walked over to Draco and grasped his hand roughly, refusing to look anywhere except at the Headmistress. She raised her wand and tapped their hands, murmuring the counter spell to the bond almost silently. At first there was nothing, and then there was everything. Heat and electricity wrapped around their hands, burning almost impossibly hot. Draco winced and looked up to examine Harry’s face, but there was no change to his expression. The bond must not feel the same for him as it did for Draco. 

As suddenly as the heat arose, it disappeared just as quickly. Draco’s hand had never felt so cold, nor had he ever felt so still inside his own body. Unnaturally still, as if his entire being was mourning the loss of its counterpart. Of Harry. Draco felt his fingers clench tighter around Harry’s hand, as if desperate to prolong the moment of what would surely be their last physical contact for as long as possible.

But it was over too fast. One second they were awkwardly holding hands, Draco desperate for Harry to look at him, and the next Harry was walking away from him. 

“All done. If that’s all, I have many things to which I must attend. Since we are so close to the end of the school year and there are no members of faculty requiring these quarters, you may have the choice to either stay here or return to your previous rooms. Good day to you both.” With a final nod, she strode from the room in a swish of tartan robes.

Draco felt frozen to the spot with misery. He tried to catch Harry’s gaze, but the Gryffindor looked right through him as if he were made of air. 

“Harry, can we talk for a minute?”

“What’s there to talk about? It’s done. That’s that.” Harry levitated his trunk and strode across the room, pausing when he reached the door. “See you around, Malfoy.” Draco wasn’t sure what hurt the most, the sight of Harry walking away or the fact that he was no longer ‘Draco’.

Draco wasn’t sure how long he stood in the middle of their room — _his_ room. A quick scan showed that there was no trace Harry had ever lived here. The book Harry had been reading was gone from the nightstand, the photo of his parents and Sirius Black was gone from its place of pride on the mantle. 

He walked to the dresser and opened drawer after drawer, knowing that all the ones that had held Harry’s clothes would be empty, but unable to resist poking the wound. He went into the bathroom and saw Harry’s toothbrush was gone along with the ironic comb that Harry used to keep next to the mirror. Not once had Draco ever seen him use it! He pulled the door to the shower open and was unsurprised to find the citrus scented soap Harry favoured was gone, his bottle of shampoo looking lonely on the tiles. 

Everywhere he looked, the absence of Harry screamed at him. He staggered back into the bedroom and sank heavily onto Harry’s side of the bed, feeling as if a black pit of despair was consuming him from the inside out. He lay back and rolled onto his side, burying his face into Harry’s pillow, breathing in the light remains of his scent. He knew it would fade soon, just as everything else they had shared would fade. His whole body shook violently as he began to sob, his lungs struggling to draw breath as he gasped around the pain. He’d set Harry free and Harry had left, just as Draco had known he would.

* * *

_5 Days Later_

* * *

The door shook violently as Pansy and Blaise pounded upon it from the corridor. He hadn’t seen them for days, instead opting to lock himself in his room. Everywhere he looked was a memory of Harry, as much a comfort as it was torture. He’d stopped going down for meals, instead picking a mouthful or two of whatever the house-elves brought him — on McGonagall’s request, no doubt. He barely slept too, dreaming of Harry moving over his body, the glint in his emerald eyes, only to wake up barely an hour later. His eyes were constantly red and puffy, and he wondered if it would have been better to die of the core sickness than this slow decay. 

Draco stared resolutely out the window. If he ignored them, they would have to give up eventually. As if reading his thoughts, Pansy yelled shrilly from the other side of the door.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy! I swear to Salazar if you don’t open this door I’ll blast it open!”

“You know she’s got a formidable Reducto, old man. Best not risk it.”

Draco rolled his eyes and forced himself over to the door, pulling it open tiredly. 

“Oh Draco, you look terrible! When did you last sleep? Are you even eating?” He stood still as Pansy fussed over him, peering into his face and eyeing him critically. Even Blaise, who was usually unflappable, looked concerned. Not that Draco cared. What did it matter if he ate, anyway? 

“You should go along and see Madam Pomfrey. Or we could bring her to you if you’re not up to it.”

“Of course, Blaise, quickly go and—”

“Shut it, will you both? What do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” demanded Pansy exasperatedly. “We’re worried about you! You’ve missed five days of classes. You’re never at meals. You’re just sitting in here crying over Potter and fading away to nothing.”

“Come on, old man. We care about you.”

“Bollocks. You don’t care about me at all!” He glared tiredly at his friends, suddenly furious that they were bothering him. “You just want my help in Potions, or to copy my notes in Transfiguration. You don’t give a shit about anything but yourselves.”

“Draco!”

Blaise put his arm around Pansy, and turned a steely glare on Draco, his voice filled with forced calm. “Steady on, you’ll end up saying something you might regret.”

“Get fucked. You’ve both shown your faces, well done. Now you can fuck off back to wherever you came from and leave me alone.”

“Draco—”

“Shove off, Blaise. Don’t you have a trussed up Weasley to try and deflower?”

“You know what, I’ve got better things to do than put up with this shite.”

“Blaise?” Pansy looked distressed as Blaise strode from the room without looking back. Draco wished wholeheartedly that she would do the same. “How can you talk to him like that? You’ve always been there for your family and friends, no matter what. What’s happened to you?” 

I don’t want to talk about it, Pansy. Please, just go, will you?” 

Pansy stood glaring at him, as if trying to decide what to do. Finally, after what felt like an age, she walked to the door, her back strangely erect as if trying to contain herself. As she went to step into the corridor, she turned back, determination blazing in her brown eyes. 

“I’m not letting you do this, Draco. You’re not going through all that hassle of saving yourself only to fade away pining over Potter. He’s miserable too, you know. Granger said he’s been in a foul temper since Sunday. 

“And?”

“If you won’t help yourself, then I’ll go talk to Potter, tell him what a state you’re in. Maybe he’ll come back to you.”

“I swear Pansy, if you don’t get your fucking nose out of my business, I’ll hex you into next week. I wish you all would just stay the fuck out of my life.”

“You know what, Draco? You should be careful what you wish for.”

He watched her as she gave him one last look before turning on her heel and walking away, her footsteps fading as she went.

* * *

Draco was lying on the bed, his arms wrapped around Harry’s pillow when the door opened an hour later. He sat up so fast his head swam momentarily as Harry made his way to sit on the edge of the bed. Merlin, Pansy wasn’t lying when she said Harry wasn’t doing well. The usually bright eyes were dull, his tanned skin looking pale against the dark rings under his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I should have knocked. It’s not my room anymore…but I need to talk to you. I miss you. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I liked living with you, loved having you around. Miss your drama and tantrums. I miss your complaining and the scathing comments you make about my clothes and hair. I even miss reading stupid Potions articles to you.”

“What are you trying to say, Potter?” The wild creature inside his chest was back, fluttering around, stirring up traces of hope he never knew were there. He’d dreamed of exactly this, of Harry coming for him and making everything better again.

“Not Potter — Harry. Always just Harry. I want to try again, see if we could work out together properly.”

“Why are you saying all this?” whispered Draco, as if terrified of what the answer might be.

“Because it’s true. I’ve been a grumpy, miserable bastard without you. Ask anyone. Hell, ask Pansy! She was so fed up with me at dinner, she threw her pumpkin juice at me.”

“Pansy, of course. I fucking told her to stay out of it. What did she give you? Amortentia? Did she cast a Confundus at you?”

“What are you on about? Of course, she didn’t! She just told me to stop moping cause I was putting her off her Shepherd’s pie and then threw her drink at me.”

“Rubbish, you wouldn’t be saying this if she hadn’t interfered.”

“Draco, what—”

“Sorry, but it’s for your own good.”

Before Harry could process the situation, Draco whipped his wand out of his sleeve and stunned him, taking care to cast a Cushioning Charm as he fell so he wouldn’t get hurt. Once he was sure Harry was safe for the moment, he let the rage he’d been holding back take root. He pushed his feet into his shoes without bothering with socks and threw a travelling cloak over his joggers and t-shirt, taking off at a run towards the Great Hall, determined to find Pansy before she could do anything else to make it worse.

* * *

“Pansy!” Draco’s yell seemed to echo around the Great Hall as he stalked through the doors, his eyes narrow as he scanned the Eighth Year table. The woman in question looked up at his shout, breaking off the conversation she’d been having with Granger. Seeing he had her attention, Draco strode furiously towards her until he was towering over her where she sat, causing the majority of the diners to pause their eating to watch. 

“What did you give him?”

“Give who?”

“Harry! What did you give him? Amortentia?” He ignored the surprised gasp from Granger, focusing instead on his supposed best friend. “Stop playing dumb. You said yourself you were going to do something to snap me out of my mood. Whatever it was you did, I want the bloody antidote. Now.”

“I can assure you I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” Pansy’s tone was cold, each syllable bleeding absolute fury. 

“Really?” demanded Draco mockingly. “You’re telling me that Harry showed up in my room making all sorts of declarations of love and missing me because he felt like it? Is that what you’re saying? Because we both know that’s a load of bullshit. He couldn’t wait to get away from me on Sunday, and nothing’s changed. So, for the last time, give me the fucking antidote.”

“I’m sorry, Draco dear...” Pansy looked furious and pale, a dangerous combination if Draco had a mind to notice. “...but I don’t happen to have any Amortentia antidote on me at the moment. I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere to resolve your little problem.”

“You’re a heartless bitch.” Draco gave her one last scathing look before running out of the great hall, ignoring the sudden eruption of whispers from the other diners. If it was Amortentia and not a bog standard Love Potion, it would take a week to brew the antidote. The only other option would be to check Severus’ rooms for one. Merlin knew the room was full of different tonics and tinctures; surely one of them had to be the antidote. 

* * *

“Rennervate!” Draco sat on his heels on top of the bedspread and watched as Harry began to stir. Luckily, Severus had one Amortentia antidote left, at least something had gone right for once. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes and smiled blearily up at Draco.

“Draco? What the— My head is killing me!” Draco smiled at the unsuspecting Gryffindor and helped him sit up, pressing the phial into Harry’s hands as he did so.

“Here, drink this and then we’ll talk.”

“What is it?” Harry pulled the stopper and gave it a quick sniff, pulling away with an unimpressed grimace at the unfortunate odour. Draco just smiled encouragingly, forcing down the sickening thought that once Harry drank the antidote, he would leave again.

“Trust me.”

Harry locked stares with Draco for a long moment before tipping the entire potion down his throat. Almost instantly, he began coughing and gagging, much to Draco’s bitter amusement.

“What on Earth was that? I’ve taken some disgusting potions in my time, but that one was just plain nasty.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Fine, unless you count how upset my stomach feels at that abomination of a potion…why?

“Just give it a minute, and when it all comes back to you, just remember that it’s all right. I won’t hold you to anything you said. I know it was just the potion, okay?” Draco strove valiantly to keep his voice steady and soothing, trying his best to reassure Harry when all he really wanted was to fall to his knees and beg him to stay.

“Give what a minute? Never mind me, are _you_ ok? You look a bit queasy. You should lie down and I can get you some soup from the kitchens. I’ll even feed it to you if you like.”

“I don’t get it,” Draco frowned as he examined Harry, checking his pupils and laying a hand on his forehead to check for fever. “The antidote should be working by now.”

“Antidote?” Harry scrunched up his eyebrows as if trying to solve a complicated puzzle. “Wait a minute. You think I’m under a Love Potion or something?” Harry began to grin broadly and reached for Draco’s hands, rubbing his thumbs over the pulse points at Draco’s wrists. “I’m _not_ under a Love Potion, you dolt. Is that the only way you think someone would ever want you?”

“Harry, I just— You left. After the cure and the bond and everything... you packed your trunk and left.”

“Of course, I left! You basically told me you’d been working on some secret cure so you could get to live your life free from me. And I get it, I do. You’ve always felt like you had no choice. I get why the cure was important to you. But it hurt, Draco. Merlin, did it hurt! I was angry, but I miss you more than anything.”

“I miss you too, but—”

“But?” prompted Harry, nerves plain across his face. 

“I don’t want you to be with me because you feel you have to, or because you don’t have any other options and you’re lonely.”

“What makes you think I have no other options?”

“Blaise is with the girl Weasley now. So I get it if you’re lonely.”

“Draco, her name’s Ginny. It’s not hard to say you know. Also, I don’t care who she’s with. I only care who you’re with. I’m not saying this stuff because I’m lonely or feel obligated. I’m saying it because, unbelievably, I’ve fallen in love with you. Hard.”

“Fuck, Harry. I want to believe you.” Draco felt lightheaded at Harry’s words, as if the air in the room had begun to thicken.

“Then believe me, shithead,” retorted Harry, grabbing Draco around the neck and pressing a punishing kiss onto his lips. “I love you, all of you, from your poncy manners to your Dark Mark. I love you. The question is, do you love me?”

“Of course, I fucking love you!” 

The growl that rose from Harry’s throat was the sexiest sound Draco could ever remember hearing. He wrapped his arms tightly around Harry’s neck and kissed him deeply for a long moment, before pulling back, breathless.

“Stay. Stay with me.”

Harry quickly cast wandless Locking and Silencing Spells at the door before he turned and pressed Draco back onto the bed, his tanned body settling on top of Draco’s pale frame.

“Forever. I promise,” whispered Harry, before reclaiming his mouth once again. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the [Seven Shades of Magic anthology](/series/1900732), a series of Drarry fics inspired by Hogwarts’ seven core subjects.
> 
> There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](https://spoti.fi/2Qx1l1Y); seven songs for each of the seven fics included in the collection.


End file.
